The Night I Called His Wife

— Barbara Saxton

Coming to terms with personal
shadows, sidestepping pretty, embracing
the muck. Trample on grammar
and syntax, go everywhere you don’t
want to look: so drunk one night
I called his wife to share some lies
we three were living.

Truth be told, he’s a wonderful
dancer; we choose your kids’ presents
for birthdays and Christmas; he never
cries out your name, but he craves
my tuna casserole.

What Greek sin of pride
made me blurt out my name? Thanks to Star69,
she called right back to cry
and beg me to leave her alone. Small comfort
this suffering out loud, it turns out.
Afterward, the room stank
with my carrion lust for another woman’s
poor property.

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