Silly Putty

 


Just for the insanity of her, & us,
Jen remains the first, & fondest of my wives.
A self-possessed, pixilated individual,
stacked like a Playboy bunny, mad as a hatter,
she played with class like it was silly putty, &
we bonded at the crotch like two young bunnies,
just for her to be a mother, just to make silken-soft
the bitterness of a broken life in the sticks—
the stigma of trailer-trash insignias, which here
camouflaged as lower-middle before my naïve eyes.
The pill she was purportedly on was more
camouflage— I forgive her now because she
had no choice, backed under trailer wheels.
Corn-rows sat on her like heavy seaweed.