Rain Press, 2004. 5.5 x 8.5 20 pages. $5.
This was a selection from Living Will which I took to Toronto in January and February of 2004, so I could have some fun sharing it with audiences. The city might have shut down in a snowstorm, but we were in great shape at The Renaissance Café, with the beers of the world on tap, and the musicians at the Mic. This is my reading copy. Looks a bit beat up, doesn’t it! The really great news is that Living Will is now out. Check it out right here.
142. I Warn You: I Can Only Take So Much
I can’t keep out of bed. You’re cold as Winnipeg.
What is it you hate, exactly? That I love you?
That we might get caught? I look forward to it.
Just compare: my love; your hate. There’s no contest.
It’s possible to love hate, but not to hate love,
and you’re sure a fine one to let such words
slip past your lips (bright with a tease of scarlet lipstick),
on a tongue that’s licked a lot of pricks,
and has whispered into as many lovers’ ears,
making other wives sleep lonely in cold beds.
Adultery is not a crime, you know,
and it doesn’t have to be a quick grope
under the sheets. Stay the night. I love you
for the same reason you love those pretty boys
your eyes undress on the street, just as I do
to you, be sure of that. That’s how we met.
Have pity, and in time you’ll be pitied, too,
but if you try to keep a lover on the side
while pushing me away, watch out: your door
swings both ways. And shuts.