Getting to a 4

After the dinner of rising losses,
in the bedroom, where open finds shut, shut
finds open, a sprawled business shirt crosses
the flowered spread. Its armless sleeve in the rut
between two pillow with matching bolsters.
A sole cufflink, like a dignified mourner,
ignored the calls of a telephonic pollster.
Its brother is abandoned in the corner,
by the shoe boxes arrayed in columns
of flats, high heels and sneakers for the gym;
sneakers worn down by her vow given solemnly:
“If I lose weight, I won’t mind losing him.”
In her closet, pantsuits size 8, size 6 size 4
And tiny cut-offs hanging from the door.


Marc Tretin