She leaned back on the black couch,
we merge like gumdrops melted and gnarled;
sticky with sweat, long legs in a nightgown,
the bridal gown she wears
uncertain of whose bride she is;
she struggles at playing chess with her feet,
I struggle with my hands,
look at me, I could never win,
but if she knew the toil I was in,
would she laugh?
She has always had a nice smile.

-Jamie F. Nugent