Long Division

We do not know what she’s thinking.

Something about a love she once had

and lost, the mechanics of an ingrown

toenail. She has a pretty face, we know

that, which is to say he’d desire her

if he looked up. He has a strong back,

probably, maybe a woman at home

right now bending over a tub of laundry,

a remote control. Let’s not imagine

the worst. People have to live and they

have to be able to have a little fun. It’s

the great escape of the wolf in everyone

that makes the paycheck such a tolerable

instrument for measuring life’s inequities.

 

Her name is Ariel, his Francisco. He grew

up in a village where everyone had sisters

so he knows the mystery of woman is

insoluble. She was an only child, a spoiled

brat, but has become a good person,

disturbed by the world’s blindness

when it looks at some. She looks at many

and sees the goose, the lion and the dove

that rise each day from every human bed.

She sees the movement of shadow as it

transforms a clear head into a place

of violence. But she knows it’s love

that will save the world if it can be saved.

Now she is thinking about bread,

the joy of good teeth. He’s thinking

about beer, Mozart, the glorious

necessity of the absurd.

 

Done