Here Today

 

She could not be more herself today,
A simple woman of vetted tastes,
Brash afternoons dusted into plainness,
The two romances she hurled herself into
On the Cape last summer
Shifting into sullenness.

One, a concert pianist choosing
To fan himself with the rhythms
Of another century,
The other, a plumber,
Who counted errors
In steel and iron daily,
The concubines of his
Off-hour interests.

She would settle this fall
For an elderly poet
Dizzying her with words,
That would dance and sting
On the flower of who she once was
In the steady arc
Of a younger lover’s interest.

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