If Only She Knew

He asked her mother,

How’s she doing?

And is told, She’s fine,

doing quite well for herself actually.

He said,

That’s good. I never did believe

all those things they used to say.

But he believed them -

he helped create them,

once his children were in bed;

fulfilling bored marriage fantasies

with their submissive, barely a teen, babysitter,

who was confused more than willing,

and yet didn’t quite know

how to say no.

He told his cousin, told his friends

(some wanted in just as badly as him),

yet his wife never seemed to see.

She was off to work, or out with friends,

not realizing or maybe not wanting to

recognize that he only worked late

so the kids would need a sitter,

who ultimately would sit for him.

He would bring her

on father and children outings,

under the guise of helping with the kids.

Yet in the dark of the car,

or in the movie theater, his hand would clasp hers,

or brush across her chest, before moving slowly

up between her legs.

Sometimes they’d smoke,

or drink in his house,

while the children were fast asleep.

His grizzled face would scratch

her soft thighs, and she’d pretend

to be more out of it than she really was;

disengaging from what once felt like flattery,

but mostly now made her feel

like a little girl gone bad who no one

would think much of, if she told.

Years later

her mother has this odd conversation,

and said, I don’t quite know

what he meant by that but you know,

I never really liked it

when you were around him anyway.

He and his wife were just a couple of bums.