poem to wives

I drove by all our old places today

the gift shop on tenth
where you bought
a little ceramic bear
for your wife
and we made fun of her
for liking such a thing

the used record store
where we held hands
in public
as if we had the right

the city park
where we'd take our lunches
eating hurriedly,
pretending otherwise,
so there'd be time for

my old apartment
where we kissed
for the first time

you told me you loved me there, too

I had you for
ninety minutes a day
monday through friday

but you always went home to her

except that one sunday
you stormed out
drove the forty-five minutes
to my bed
and she called
to say you were on your way

she's not the villain in this piece
I am

but I hated her

and I learned a lesson
for all the wives

if you're not fucking your husbands
chances are
somebody else is