Give me that America from the painted postcards with the husband
unable to say he loves me, then the dog, house, the job, car, the boat,
three kids, the two MDs for Rx shopping, and a history of bottles
in a trunk, cabinet, and pantry.
Give me a lover who calls at noon, and the honest cracks in his
laughter, and his inky dreams, bring him at his very best.
I’m attracted to the frank, peering thrills of your lips, my dear.
Today, I’m floating back-a time as if undressed in my white gown
thrown over my head that he didn’t take time to unclasp or untie,
it wasn’t worth the wait.
The first time my body hit a bed with the weight of a man.
Who else will there be, I thought almost immediately
running from the lonely.
Give me Norman Rockwell, Bob Ross, and Fred Rogers
to mix my truth with the American Dream ™