Love is a Window

PUSH/PULL

My spiritual advisor
Phoned this morning
From the airport.
She’s about to go to Utah,
Hoping to ski into a husband.
She requires a suburban lifestyle
To fend off a chronic bent
Toward charming men.
She misses me. I make her sad.
She’d like to have drinks and dance
& Get her lines worked on.
The traffic within the highway
(The ribbon of carbon dioxide
Along the west side of the island)
Is hard with noise.
As I wait for an opening
For my bike to
Nose across,
I realize my
Life cycle
Is a figure “8”
Looping back
On itself
Like a trap, like
An ambush, like
A snare. I think
My clergywoman
Is trying to block my path
To inner happiness.
I pray she has a baby by me
And her hips turn to fat.