I’ve never loved a man
in a life-together way.
I love my man- cat,
my man- friends.
I loved my man-Dad.
Never the men who peed around my toilet daily
or groped me early in the morning,
(closet necrophiliacs that they were.)
I never loved the man
who snored in great, gasping gusts.
Or the one who picked his nose,
gently rolling the thing before setting it on the night-stand.
Never loved the one who gifted me a statue of a crow for Christmas.
Nor the other who gave me a statue of a crow for Christmas.
Two men. Two crows.
One plaster. One tin.
No love to the second power..
I never loved the photographer, who loved juicy peaches,
and said peCANS instead of peCONS until I wanted to scream.
He loved taking portraits of naked women.
Convenient. He gave at the office.
I never loved the musicians who loved to play
for [with] everyone else.
Else why would they be musicians?
I didn’t love the illustrated man with long, black hair
who freaked everyone out …
I never loved the soft-spoken man who wouldn’t fight
for anything …
or any one, and agreed with everything
I said-- even when I didn’t agree with myself.
Love is gentle and kind.
It does not ponder
pillows and poison
and plates aimed at heads.
If you love someone set them free.
It has occurred to me that
I may have loved them after all.
If this is the case.