Brass

I have spent my life
being loud, strident, trite.
Trumpeting like a swan?
More like honking goose-like.
Of all the ears that could not hear
the deafest one was mine.

Shower

He likes to watch me, unseen,
in the shower
my head, heavy with grief
leaning against the cold tiles
my bulging belly
overhanging with untold secrets
my Botticelli flank
aching from a neglected spine
the clear water
running down my legs
diffused with the urine
of failed surgeries
he touches the curtain
(a passing breeze, really)
to inform me of your admiraton
as he watches me
in the shower
where I stand, unseen.

Coming Home

She is sprawled
half undressed
guileless
her arms hanging over
the sides of her chair
reading, so deep in thought
that putting on the other
half of her clothes
has slipped her mind
I bend over her for a kiss
she holds up a hand
index finger pointing
and I wait. Impatient.