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Poem

Her hormones fled the coop
on scalding tires.

He drifted into her,
working the night-shift
of a traveling fantasy.

Motel maids were her sisters
bars her occupation,
a place to work 
on the aerobics of hope.

Their love
was an unhygienic affair.
Everything spilled out,
much maintenance
in putting back in.
Emotional jism
was scrubbed by hand
until skin-tight excuses
glistened
milky as mollusk flesh.

They had lots to attend to.
Feelings had to be
daily resuscitated
into former victimized forms.
He would not leave; 
she would not go.
He anointed her again,
and again 
with his pity-me flesh.

Their mutually dependent rodeo 
played itself out
on the steps 
of a haggard tomorrow,
both now blinded
by owl-light.

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