“But you’re married now.”
“So there’s no sex, right?”
No, I told him.
Rubbing my chin, eyes
tied to the right.
“We do,” I said.
“When the time is right.”
The time strikes frequently.
And we have many names for it.
Sometimes we call it a headache,
or a long day at work.
We’ve been known to need a nap,
and sometimes it’s constipation.
On special occasions it’s being sleepy,
and on a Monday it is work in the morning.
And when we call it,
I think of a headache,
and the long day at work.
I look down, and feel
When I come, and want to leave,
They have simple messages to follow,
which is quite nice when I think about it.
As opposed to my concrete jungle:
tow zone; no parking zone; drug free school zone…
yes zone, my city is zoned.
It’s a grid that has an agenda,
to separate by market value.
Homes side by side to show self-worth,
not different from suburban structures.
Pre-packaged balsa wood ready for new families,
as dad puts in the new mailbox,
with dollar sign next to the address.
Impeccable lawns; fresh paint; no furniture
yes empty, the houses are meaningless.
It’s a show for other homeowners.
Reality happens behind closed doors,
in cities and suburbs.
I’m just following the street signs,
maybe I can find one that is for the public,
symbols or words.
It doesn’t matter, just as long as it isn’t a facade,
or an endless journey; a mirage.