Her Dirty Secret

I am hers at lunch and every other Saturday, when
Her ex has the kids. She keeps me out of sight.
She says she wants me for herself, but I believe
That she's embarrassed. Poet? No, her man
Must be an actuary or an engineer, someone
Her family sees as useful. I am not, and, though
I write her almost-sonnets, filled with lush
Alliteration, though I mine the universe for
Cosmic metaphors of love, and though I hold
Her in the night and reassure her that each
Morning isn't, as they say it is, a hole from
Which one won't emerge, she'd rather not
Say she is mine, and this, then, would be
My misfortune. I am hers. I'm sure she loves
Me. Still, like an old dotty uncle, she prefers
To keep me out of sight.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 25 times
Written on 2012-04-13 at 01:55

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