I’ve been having home-wreck dreams of you.
I’ve got an inside view from our big window.
This is a metaphor, of course, not manufacture, yet.
We stay shrouded in a cloud of disaster.
Dust in the loader bucket, the ideal view ruins itself.
This dream is all I could pull out of the dark.
A toothy, wild punk drunk at the controls.
I get ornery when unprotected.
I’m the wife at the party guarded by friends
husbands who have more vigilant shoulders.
Some big bully wants me for his own.
You have such lovely smiling dimples when you watch.
Over there in the corner, you eye the trespasser.
He drives right into your marriage and you watch.