If I am not
the man
that I thought—what then? So much
the better—perhaps
to shave
such bedraggled shadows off!
Who would even
notice me there
I wonder?—a daffy pink tall boy, olive-eyed
lanky, domestic; I'll pick
out a bowl
and populate it
with apples
and water with sugar
and cover from flies—and feel so small
and satisfied;
I will genuflect
before high freezers
and prepare toaster waffles
or stoop low—to get water
for my blueberry girls; so much the better!
who would notice,
or listen,
or read? Who ever even heeds
a word that I utter!—other than the careful
company I target
privately—in short,
to lob
the word family at?
Kate would still
marry me;
Lucy will wag; I'll pick my nose and eat it
and laugh in cutoff pants;
so much the harder, in fact
than that man
that I'm mistaken for—and so much
the stronger—speaking of that!
ought now
to stand—this imaginary case
for my
stay of execution!