Can’t help but wonder
if I’d be better off
married to him, stuffed,
housewife-ish, living in my in-
law’s closet, drooping
with children destined to grow up
short with nice teeth
but bad eyes, a boy
named Eddie and a girl
named Lizzie, each chasing
a large, ferociously kind
golden retriever named
Wahoo. Maybe we’d have
season tickets at the Jake.
Maybe I’d make love
to my husband in pitched tent.
Oh, it used to be
what I’d pray for every night.
But it’s not at all
what I’ve got. And I don’t how
how he would have proposed
and I don’t know how complacent
I could become, but I do know
he would have loved me right
and I do know I would have been happy
trapped in his arms.
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