Not Like This.  Not Alone.

He’d rather embrace this lonely disappointment
As others do, long married, wet from a shower,

Squeezing behind his wife at the basin
Almost audibly as if sealed in laminate. 

There’s dignity in that—a bathroom steaming,
A naked woman flossing, his body beaded,

Glistening and framed in the doorway.
He would have that special someone to blame,

Hate for a time, and forgive, as she would him
When her own sadness sweetened and turned clear.

Then, he’d write off the expense as time spent,
Admit that there’s pity behind affection,

And hear the kisses at his temple murmur,
We tried. We’re trying. Sweetheart, this is it.

Originally published in the Los Angeles Review