A Domestic Song

He who brings home the bacon is often
lost in the fire that smoked it.

He himself is the fire
& cannot pull his eyes back far enough to see it.

He lifts a glass to her
who is a coat rack for his riches.

She waits the days out
under the smoke clouds of their arrangement.

But the man who is the bacon
doesn’t dance or sing her praises.

And whatever god it was that snatched her
is cursed with conviction.

She was no coat rack
this was no arrangement.

All his riches
become dross in proof of her value.

He can only be the other man
in passing.