Portrait of the Other Husband as a Clock
A pigeon settles on the windshield:
soft click, like a doll’s eye springing open.
We’re in the study of morning after—
at some point, last night, we introduced
ourselves. He reckons it was
half-past eleven, perhaps nearer to three;
I reckon it was because we both
wanted something from the bathroom.
Nervously, we try to figure out
first names, why the FM radio is blaring
Mystery Hour, make excuses
for jam and sweet nothings in the car.
He is lopsided in the back seat;
I reach out to straighten a loose button.
His hands move at twelve o’clock
and pause lingeringly: I wind him up.
Arlene Ang lives in a small town outside Venice, Italy. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Diagram, Forklift Ohio, The Pedestal, Poetry Ireland, Rattle, Smiths Knoll and Tattoo Highway. She is the author of "The Desecration of Doves" (iUniverse, 2005). Website: www.leafscape.org/aang