To Abide a Good Wife

Miracle if she knows,
That I stole a bad dosage of that taboo sex,
With a manic bisexual minx and her silver tools.
I wonder if her stainless beak can smell that psychosis,
The malady represented,
The semblance of things done to me, for me,
By a woman ambitious,
A woman taking initiative,
A woman greedy for a proper defeat,
A woman wanting to be hit, kicked for pleasure or pain,
Or something even more godless.
I want to tell you,
Darling,
Light of my life.
Mary-Beth Jackson.
Woman.
Jezebel of the South,
Take a good look,
Look past these eagle eyes of mine,
I did it.
We did it.
We did vile, vile things in the ringing gloom of a motel laundry room,
This lithe, hungry scarlet woman and your sensible husband.
Things we would never do as you kill lights,
Shut blinds,
As we run to that departed theatre of yesterday passions,
As you ask if I have another cold or of my frozen sciatica.
I want to tell you,
Darling.
Lovebird.
Mary-Beth Jackson.
Wife.
Sunshine of Ahab.
Take a good look,
Look past this hawkish nose I bear,
The nice boy at the door got 25 bucks for his hush,
A win for all.
Without words, I tipped,
The scarlet woman floats to open at the frontdesk,
Gold-dust from behind ears,
And I, to catch a yellow plane,
To abide a good wife,
Mary-Beth Jackson.
Excellent at roasting a turkey.

Image: lifecrust.com/

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