By | 1 May 2018

At the wedding he says
I took my wife off the pill, it wasn’t
easy. I say, Oh

that’s terrible. (Imagine being a wife,
being taken, taking
off somehow, what

kind of weight
I don’t know— The men at work
said: We’re talking

about you, not to you.
They were talking
of how best

to tame a reckless body
(their daughters’ irregular,
bloodied, not abiding—)

They spoke over my lunch.
I know swinging dicks—
I know to skip the sugar

pills, how to hoax myself.
The man at work said, Think
logically, like I’d lost

my head & not my books.
The skip bin opened
to the length

of half my living
room. It was oddly full
with warmth & admiration—

Sometimes it’s hard to break
habits of hoarding
& spite.

At the wedding
the music swings up
in angles, lit.

A tiny bride & groom
on the dancefloor, the cake;
a small song turning its way out.

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