gold and silver gifts
from strange guys
glitter
across your fingers.
you wave them as I wonder
where the hell those hands have
been.
do you cuddle
with
the cocks
of new dudes
as our
familial
glue
flounders?
what else
has touched
the guilt-ridden
dinner you've just prepared?
you peel our potatoes
wet
in your starched hands;
holding them gingerly
as you think of the other man.
even your clothes
don't smell like dad's cologne
after a
(now long gone)
goodbye kiss.
no
I love yous,
we've all been dismissed,
and now
you've gone from Mrs.
to Miss.
I
cringe
to share your kiss
with
him:
a picture of
lipsticked lips
stacked around
his dick
swallows
thick
in my throat.
I vote
you put
those hands
back in both
pockets.
please go
sparkle
for
someone else.
