For My Wife By J.L. Cloyd

Though we grow old
Though we grow fat
Though we grow dull

From the unique ennui
One experiences in
The inane vacuum of
The everyday in
Small town America

I think that it’s the things
That you say that keeps me
So enamored with you…
So alive…
Your wicked sense of humor…

For instance…
A few weeks ago
We were watching tv

An advertisement came on…

“Losing it with Jillian
What the hell is that about?” I conjecture

And you said
“It’s Jillian deflowering
Fat virgins”…

And so

A vision of Jillian
Aggressively
Straddling some giant greasy guy
Sweating mayonnaise
Flashed through my mind

That night we laughed
And we slept
And the next day
We changed the little girl’s diapers
Fed her
And went to work
And blah blah blah…

And then a week or two later
The news broke…

NPR was reporting that the
Dome was a complete failure
And the gulf coast was still gushing…
Ejaculating oil on the face of nature…

You said
“Know what I think?
I think now that this has happened
They’ll be saying
That we can’t stop now
The damage is done…
It’s like a virgin that gets raped
And then becomes a prostitute…
Everybody wins”

I laugh
And awkwardly add

“Yah… it’s like she performs an important
Service for the community…”

And we laugh
The laughter of the sad
And my gnarled soul
Opens up…
Unclenches and
Falls to the
Floor
With
A thud
Like a
Heavy
Pistol