Her husband was a self-made man,
an up-and-comer of his own devising,
one of those who reads things
so he’ll know exactly what to say.
at Porsche Club
he took a sip of wine
—Is that what they call it? A sip?—
and discoursed on its qualities,
then got up and went to pet his car
—Is that what they call Porches? Cars?—
or perhaps to brush an insect from its windshield.
While he was gone,
she took his glass and held it to her lips
how it was
from her wine
which at the very least was from a different bottle
if she could smell and taste what he had
and yes, she thought,
it is definitely different.
let me taste yours”,
—You know where this is going, don’t you.—
took his own wine
from her hand,
—They don’t have another word for sniffed, do they?—
and described it as completely different
from the one he’d tasted first,
discoursing at some length on just exactly how.
it had been in the open air
and things do change
Some years after that she left him
and some years after that
—It was after decades, to be honest,
decades of cohabitation.—
she up and married me.
—I hate to humbly brag
but I will always gladly tell you
what it is I do not know.—
She calls me
her “little lifelong learner”,
—As Bucky Fuller said, “You can’t learn less.”—
in the best of all possible ways”.