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I've just realized
that it's late on Thursday
in the week of my life
the kids are toiling
through their Monday night
oblivious
and twitching for Tuesday
trophy wives always run
a day behind their fate:
Jennifer, dear Jennifer,
won't even pack a lunch
for the back end of the week;
she's a Wednesday girl,
laughing through late-day meetings
of the eternal Planning Commission
I was looking forward
to my golf-and-sunset weekend
hoping she'd come home for good
for me on Saturday night
I can feel the length of her
cupped alongside me
left hands clasped
on my still hungry heart
with that blue-sky smile
she takes the stubborn thing,
an angel with a red toy boat,
lights it with a single kiss
and sets it adrift
her hot breath wafts me
through the sunshot haze
of my long and lazy
Sunday afternoon.
©2002, Kaimana Wolff
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As the dawn broke today
I salvaged a dozen
of the desperately filthy
towels swimming madly
in that ocean our young siren
blithely calls “My Room”
Rescued now from rot they wait
briefly plastered flat
in their circle of redemption
for the exasperated tap
of teenaged feet
Will she remember?
or will our clean moments
decay in a wet, warm dark?
Now I remember
I neglected to tell her
as she bound up to music
that tortoise-shell hair--
memory's centrifuge
is far finer pitched
than that wave she plugs into,
that tsunami of rage
as youth confronts age,
that Doppler whine
of an unthought life
©2002, Kaimana Wolff
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