by Bruce Lader
Things in Her Life He Would Love to Be
He cannot be a bluebird at the suet
arousing her vernal exclamations.
He doesn’t have the soft firmness
of pillows she sewed from old sweaters,
cannot be a cat she dandles for hours
on the sofa, brushes into light.
He’d happily become one of her hobbies,
a garden she serves the moment
she comes home. In a heartbeat, he would
take the place of the beaded necklaces
and pearl earrings, prepare a bath
perfumed with rosemary, be the high resolution
image mesmerizing her. How he’d purr
if she would rub his neck, shoulders,
gently as a Mozart andante
limn the landscape of his face,
he’d be so proud to satisfy all her excesses,
provide a mountain of cheese crackers,
goblets of Irish Cream, a sea of herring fillets.
He cannot free her from the work she hates,
can’t sing like the caresses of rain
serenading her to sleep, can’t even manage
her dream gazebo. If only he possessed
the passion to dance for the rest of their lives
like Ginger in unison with Fred.
Last updated September 16, 2011