Midnight
Speak to me, aching heart: what
Ridiculous errand are you inventing for yourself
Weeping in the dark garage
With your sack of garbage: it is not your job
To take out the garbage, it is your job
To empty the dishwasher. You are showing off
Again,
Exactly as you did in childhood-where
is your sporting side, your famous
ironic detachment? A little moonlight hits
The broken window, a little summer moonlight
Tender
Murmurs from the earth with its ready
Sweetness-
Is this the way you communicate
With your husband, not answering
When he calls, or is this the way the heart
Behaves when it grieves: it wants to be
Alone with the garbage? If I were you.
I 'd think ahead. After fifteen years,
His voice could be getting tired, some night
If you don't answer, someone else will answer. 7
