I fall in love with husbands
when mine’s out of town--
all of them, the idea of them,
the wonderful function of husbands,

the dearness of my own
slipping into the plural,
the sea of them,
all these married men

seem to be rightly mine,
just not yet belonging,
on their trips still,
like my usual one—

It’s true a quantity of wives and children
vanishes in these fantasies,
and I regret that, though it’s understood
to be another era,

a decent period passes quickly,
and now the kindness and fun
clogging their middle-aged hearts
is for the good of me—

and the lovely lives I saunter in,
the wives also made them,
that’s the luck, too,
in loving their—or should I say our—husbands.

And when he comes back to me,
my present husband--no tragic loss yet for him,
no kids at large--he may notice I appear

Published by Pif Magazine