27 August 2006 | Vol. 6, No. 2

Vinegar

by JEN CURRIN

He said "assassinated" and then, "trust."

I can only hope for a better guide.

To learn as little as I possibly can—

I've talked to you amateurishly

in an effort to appear attractive.

You have an addictive laugh,

legs I long to wrap

in a deeper acquaintanceship.

The imaginary café where I met him

burned down, taking our last glances.

Is he our grandfather,

writing lesbian love poems?

"Her little bush, loaves of bread," etc.

He is comfortable enough

to offer his guests a bath.

But I'd rather go home

and write pantoums.

When a man's mistress and wife

are the same person

we can agree to be voice teachers,

harmless to everyone but ourselves.