i met her handsome man
and then i shook his large warm hand
and when she left we had to smile
and then we chatted for a while.
and then i drove onto her, squatted on her land.
and then she finished up her drink
and put her glass into the sink
and she searched the tiny house
for her husband, her own louse:
he'd fuck any person anyone who'd blink.
and much later in the hall
our swollen lips told it all.
and then she said with shaking head
that which every woman dreads:
"there's not a live thing in this world that he won't ball."
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i'm kind of enjoying the limerick thing right now since one can be quite direct in that format, and also this adultery theme is stuck in my head in combination with a craving: for the examination of/the notion of power placement in relationships. so there you go.
please don't mistake my observations for a sense of rage on my part, because that is not my reaction when i think of adultery or sexuality or power. please don't mistake the "I" in this narrative for me: this is not autobiography: this is just another way of asking questions.
