Their living room (looked like it was from a magazine)

Their living room
Looked like it was
From a magazine

The parents
Of my dark, considerate boy

Do you know the kind of things
he says to me?
How he wants to
breathe into my ear
as he holds my neck

And he was here once
In a little body
Sitting on this flower couch
Along Mrs. Robinson

Hands on his lap
And later he whispers to me
Do you want me
to punish you?

We had dinner
In a white dining room
French doors
Open to a patio
White linen is the signage of the refined
Flowing from the doors

They’ve an in-house library
Two floors
In Manhattan

Is this where you learned
to read Henry Miller;
D. H. Lawrence?

Your mother is serious
Unlike mine
You all keep your elbows
off the table

We sleep
in separate beds
At your parents’ house

You sneak into my bed
Press your hand hard
against my mouth
So your little brother
Twenty years younger
than you
Doesn’t hear

I played the game
All weekend
Accommodating and stand-offish
Practicing to smile
Genuine but quiet
And I learned
it costs to be a woman


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