The Twelve Labors of Tiffany

First love found on Spring
Break – fingers like sand, ocean
kisses. Fall is gone.

Frying pan grease splash
forearm. Dinner comes at six,
he at six-o-five.

Crumpled beer cans lit-
ter living room. Couch smells of
whiskey sweat. She cleans.

Soiled boxers, and
lipstick stained collared shirts, ties –
she scrubs with her tears.

Not a prude by heart
not a selfish lover – she
lies with him and her.

Two-income household
barley maintains his pleasures,
or his gifts of guilt.

Candied pain – she bites
back tears as he enters her
through her rear exit.

Three in the morning;
he stumbles in, waking her.
Her body’s on call.

His manhood solid-
ified – her belly swollen
with life he condemns.

She’s paid more than him –
true motives hide behind love;
still she quits her job.

A single parent
caring for a child-like man
and their baby girl.

He never asked what
she wanted. She wouldn’t had
known how to answer.

She knew more than she
allowed him to believe. Her
labors, many; her
love, infinite. She thought her
feats could make him love her back.

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
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