You have
the most beautiful
house keys. You leave
me just enough
awake to watch
you leave.
– from Poem with Pepper Spray and Bottle Opener by Graham Foust
I’m still in the process of moving,
she said, out. My reply must have
been something like fine because
what other words has a shrug
learned to say? In high school
I fixed my geometry gaze
on that wave of flesh between
belt-loop and back, an ocean
of ivory smashed by a coast
of red or blue or the hue
of the day, sharply enhanced,
because I wore glasses
that I didn’t need––fifteen
from Wal-Mart, dollars
I mean. My stare, though aged,
has not traveled far. This
morning I watched her, storming
and mad, shoving her under-
wear into a sack, followed by
shirts, then all of her books
and a grimace reserved
for what I’ve become, mistakes
I have made; and sad as it sounds,
I would ask for it back––
the protractor days,
uncomfortable lust, and why
I insisted on trying to love
a creature whose penchant
for resplendent lace
I would dream of for hours,
curled up in the shower.