She clapped her hand to her heart
She sighed not inaudibly and closed her eyes to fight the imagined tears
Mouth closed, back arched, breasts out.
This is rare behavior for her, thank god
Emerging exclusively at poetry readings
When she wants the poet to know how much her pampered heart has broken
Oh, this means so much, this means so
So much to me.
Her aggressively passive response trumping the toil the pauper endured
Capping the night
Usurping it
Without ever purchasing his book.
She’s my wife
She’s the reason I’m a banker
And not a poet
