potluck

darling, i have some bad news.
the pink eye of my right has
swollen overnight, and i am
not of face to drink red wine
and slum cigarettes at your

office Christmas party .
this year i will miss
your hand on Delta's high
and mighty behind, as she
glances at me shyly pleased,
to be so clearly well endowed.

give her flank a pretty spank
as she whinnies in her rum.
i'll be home swollen and alone-
hardly any fun.
willing to sacrifice the platter
spread for my husband's

reputation, i'll keep tuned
to Reality Television and it's
humping and bumping and
imbibing. i've been brought to
tears before with the emptiness.

but tonight my right eye can't cry.
with my left good eye, keeping
one on the prize, keeping Clintonesque
persistence in the value of
this marriage- i change channels
in flickers of dark and light as

you squeeze her sweating carriage.

m.m.e *undated. old. **the poem, not me.