American Sentence LX
The man turns from the world he cannot join, from the child he cannot see.
Your Fluevogs: the hot ones with purple trim,
corinthian heels, and spiky iron straps.
The feel of them on my heart, the anguish.
I’m remembering them; And growing younger
in a memory, recalling a different, luxurious pain.
Crushed. Coming across them now in our old armoire.
As the phone rings, and slices the Saturday afternoon
across the ribs. I know it’s the lawyer. I know what’s next.
