poem #4

corkscrew lonely

you can turn them off you know,
those silent winding corkscrew nights.

this i tell her
gently sipping my tea.

you don't have to get angry.
you don't have to get sad.
no need to scratch out
sprawling curly lists
of where you fit
and what you are
to him.

and oh-so-frank
i look at her
as if she cannot disagree.

my wise eyebrows perched.

but then,
if she could see me
rolling up cigarettes
late at night like a spy

just to busy my fingers.