keep me (posted)

sometimes we post in the cemetery

waiting for someone to call with chest pain

she finds it amusing, surrounded by bodies

I find her morbid, the way her eyes gleam

in the dark, putting the ambulance in park

being on the road is lonely, she once told me

when she wound her finger through my hair

I didn’t stop her from making a home there

and when her lips brushed my lips

turning the tips of my ears pink,

I pushed her out the driver’s door

and through another, eyeglasses clattering 

at our socked feet, her lenses shattering

and while she peeled back my uniform

my hands, shaking, undoing her belt, 

I wondered if he was home alone

or with his best friend or baking something

sweet she whispered between her teeth,

hands cupped behind my knees

outside, it began sprinkling

I lost myself in her rhythm

keeping him far from this wanton behavior

.

sometimes we post at the church on 11th

and if I drive slow enough,

we glimpse the city deer grazing under the trees

under the light of the Cross,

she tells me about her wife

but if we’re anywhere else,

she doesn’t mention the woman

a saint, I guess, who coordinates

activities at a nursing home

I’m tempted to reply,

shut up and fuck me

but I crane my neck instead

watching the fawns nuzzle

against each other

I wonder what his skin feels like

how, the other day, we met in the garage

I couldn’t take my eyes off his face

the sheen of sweat across his cheeks

we met and I thought I conjured the whole thing

he said he was just a fabrication 

of my over-active imagination

I believed him—

the truck jolts into drive; she says

we’ve got a drunk downtown

so I carefully tuck my thoughts away

.

sometimes we post in the empty lot

cornered by train tracks and construction sites

this is where he starts his mornings,

after clocking in, waiting for an assignment

this is my favorite place to be,

where, at night, a homeless man sleeps

in the bushes; here, I don’t let her

touch me, feigning busyness

on my phone, typing reports

or resting my eyes to get through the shift

she’s usually good at taking hints

but occasionally, she’ll reach across the cab

and caress knuckles across my face

closing my eyes—I can’t help it—

I imagine it’s his fingers,

leaning into the sensation

she thinks I’m sighing for her

it’s only when the chill of her wedding band

catches my jawline 

that I pull away, realizing

we are cruel women

and we are liars,

chasing pleasure

when love is impossible

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