Shuffling behind him, collecting his socks,
She regards his three heads and
Two left feet, bedhead breath, beer belly,
Broken bones and battered plans
Wraps a great blanket of judgment
Around him, burrito style,
And calls it love
Alone out on the porch
In front of God and the neighbors,
Matted mane half-tamed and smarting.
Her shoes are off, t-shirt stained,
Makeup a smoky memory.
She is eating cardboard
With feta and pepperoni
From a Domino’s box.
She licks her greasy fingers
Seeing with some certainty
That we all have our days