. . . but somebody’s got to do it, write the poetry. Relationships are good for at least a couple of poems. And “all relationships have meaning.” Right?

DIRTY WORK

I am your golden jackal, shining, grinning.
I wield the flashlight, forge trails through night
Blooming jasmine, metropolis serfdom.
I machete weed, tamp down ale induced panic.

In the morning you put on the jacket,
Admit the thrills, hips, heat up our cunning.
Get to chopping. Onions, peppers, kindling.
Start the fire. Sweep. Brew the java. Rouse.

We share bacon, scrambled eggs and signal
Amidst tender yanks. Shrieks! Gentle scuffles.
You entice me with coca juice. Pay day.
Pony rides. New jeans. A rumpus in the hay.

Ack! Your alarm. Smallness restored, inner priest
Rises to free the calves we toiled so hard to corral.