Cable network runs The Godfather movies
back-to-back on Valentine’s Day for men like
Mikey Meatballs and Bobby-Balls-In-Hand,
who spent the day playing straight pool
and quoting lines in unison:
“You sonofabitch, do you know who I am?
I’m Moe Greene! I made my bones
when you were going out with cheerleaders.”
Last night, in bed, my husband warned me
that Valentine’s Day is a synthetic holiday
placed between Christmas and Easter
to boost the economy.
As Bobby’s about to run out the table,
I lean into the counter, trying to be original,
press my pen against a ninety-nine cent card
but am distracted, like Bobby is,
by Mikey belching the alphabet.
I salvage a crooked arrow piercing a lopsided heart,
but Bobby can’t take back a scratch.