The ring scraped against the counter,
a hooking slide as you swung past
into the living room. Brown lacquer light.
Early spring, blossoms in quiet explosions
have cooled their colors, and lilacs hang
on the air. You begin with the children,
your voice ringing theirs with your gamesome
appearance. Late. And later still my watch.
The extra key on your ring, would I have noticed
had there been time in your merry greeting
for me? You only kiss my neck, or head,
or cheek. Avoid any risk of intimacy.
And the extra key? Fresh cut and as gold
as our wedding rings had been once,
twenty years prior. How many times has it keyed
a crack in the door of a stranger's house?
Your heart pick, your jagged scrap.
How many ways can you unlock
a heart and wipe and tramp on the floor?
For a second I want to spit in your wine.
Your laugh circles the living room,
the children play jail keeper. Keep you,
they will, to your backstart loving,
your back ways with your lock lover.
Keep away. I do not want to hear you.
I know you have a key. I know you are there.
