Tara Ward
on Tuesday nights.
I had to guess what kind of pancakes you wanted
in the morning, before. You would shuffle
across wood in my favorite t-shirt from high
school and smile with cotton covered
teeth or pick your eye boogers faking
gratitude. And I
would go off to the station,
before. Get into a hairy
10-16 and wonder if I remembered
to kiss you before I left. Even just that light
touching of lips that’s basically nothing
but a promise for later. Then I had to
decide with one look if you needed
a single rose kind of dinner, a quicky
in the hall, or just a night of ignoring me
and hogging all the bed space. Before,
my life was full of choices, but now pancake
questions don’t hurt. Now, I’m not
rebuked by old
neighbors at midnight. Now,
I’m no longer
hostage bait to 10-32s.
Now, when I come home; numb,
I go to our bed with your socked feet
in the air as I fuck you. Perfection
in that single memory on repeat. No
surprises, nothing
uncomfortable in these rooms visited
alone. Now, I win at poker
on Tuesday nights.
I had to guess what kind of pancakes you wanted
in the morning, before. You would shuffle
across wood in my favorite t-shirt from high
school and smile with cotton covered
teeth or pick your eye boogers faking
gratitude. And I
would go off to the station,
before. Get into a hairy
10-16 and wonder if I remembered
to kiss you before I left. Even just that light
touching of lips that’s basically nothing
but a promise for later. Then I had to
decide with one look if you needed
a single rose kind of dinner, a quicky
in the hall, or just a night of ignoring me
and hogging all the bed space. Before,
my life was full of choices, but now pancake
questions don’t hurt. Now, I’m not
rebuked by old
neighbors at midnight. Now,
I’m no longer
hostage bait to 10-32s.
Now, when I come home; numb,
I go to our bed with your socked feet
in the air as I fuck you. Perfection
in that single memory on repeat. No
surprises, nothing
uncomfortable in these rooms visited
alone. Now, I win at poker
