An Accidental Encounter With My Ex-Wife
I watch my enemy (and former lover)
widen her jaw
lick her lips -
a graceful beast
in pearls & grey wool,
I’m the sawdust
sprinkled on fresh vomit.
I have trouble
recalling
our quiet street
before houses
and children
grew up around us.
A couple passes -
Do you ever smile like that?
“Not with you,” she says,
“Not in a million years.”
How about in two million?
It seems our beloved
ice cream truck
no longer pedals
confections, but steaks.
These trees
are perfect and static
above your heavy curls -
I have to look away.
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