The Black Widow

Some female spiders kill their mates.
I think Janelle is one of them. Once
Sweet, she mooned at me in locker hallways,
Held my hand. She wrote my name in pink,
And drew a heart around it on her notebook
Cover. That was love, and I loved her
The same amount. We went together
Everywhere. She wore my letter jacket
Like a robe denoting royalty, and so she was,
At least to me, in high school and a few years
After. We made plans, the standard ones:
I'd work full-time at Franklin Body. She
Would study nursing. We'd get married,
Buy a house, have kids,

But love began to ebb away, and unarticulated
Tension wafted up to take its place.
We never saved enough to get a house
When I was on the line, and Franklin closed.
I lost my job. I found another pumping
Propane, but it didn't pay too much. We
Lived from hand to mouth, helped out
By parents. She was getting close to being
Finished with her classes, working at
The hospital at night. She was a nurse's
Aid. She met a divorced doctor there,
And, soon, his lab coat was her robe,
His gaudy car her chariot, and I hung,
Lifeless, in the window, first to be
Dispatched.

The doctor was the next to die, sucked dry
Of assets, then abandoned. Now, I hear
Janelle has tantalized an actor with her stylish
Widow's garb. When he's at work, she lolls
Beside their swimming pool and hatches plots.
In time, he'll have to go.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 65 times
Written on 2019-12-20 at 22:54

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