from the looks of things now
you probably can't imagine how it was
but in sixty-eight i took
a polaroid of her
standing by the open front door
as we were starting out
for an evening
at the sans souci lounge and my god
there she was
in hot pants and red vinyl
boots her hair
in curls and with a shy smile of anticipation
that gave no hint of the evening
ahead when
i would have to yank her by the arm out to
the parking lot and force her
into the car kicking and screaming at me
until three young samaritans
stepped up
and said ma'am you want us to stomp that fucker's ass
and when i said listen she's my wife
the tall guy who kept caressing his abs said shut up creep
we talking to the lady
so nothing to do but get out both our id's
and by that time she was passed out
anyway sprawled across the seat with her boots under
the steering wheel and holding on
to the door handle with both hands like a lone passenger
on the a train
but this morning
looking for her aricept bottle
she found
the polaroid in one of those shoeboxes full of stuff she's always
going through and didn't recognize
herself at all tossing the photo at my feet and saying who's this
one of your little whores
don't mind me take the bitch in the bedroom
and see if she can
get it hard for you nobody else can



�2007 by James Lineberger
previously published in thieves jargon