The Long Terms
I had just closed the door
at your last word. Stepped
like lighting in two ten and half
shoes on the hardwood.
This is what long term
relationships look like, she said.
Her in the corner of a bar leaning
into some guy from work, me stewing
in the wash back and slowly growing
cro-magnom in my grin.
Therapy ain’t cheap. I’ve spent
too long studying stagecraft and nonverbals,
writing’s not on the wall—it’s who touches
who first and how long until they break
doors, red lights, clips, zippers, and nylon.