Mary

Once he returns to drive Cristina’s car
and is stopping at stop lights that turn red,
inspiring him to try to invent one
with amber and green to hang in his mind,
he sees Mary one day crossing with child.
She got what she wanted. A mother now,
she looks the same as she looked in high school
and in bed when once she turned her dark eyes
on him saying, Give me a child or leave . . .
though having borrowed his King James Bible
she called to say she’d bring it back as soon
as she returned from where her new husband
was going, New York, to sign a contract
for his first novel. Her ultimatum
to him preceded Old Friend’s arrival
from Honolulu where her daddy was
when she was born to surf in Waikiki
and met her handsome blond-haired lover man
who calls the mainland, then elopes with her.
It must be his baby boy. She looks back
at Bobby, holds her gaze as he holds his.
She goes on with that fiery twitch of ass
she loved to fling all night across the floor
when they partied with the Greeks all weekend
back in the day they thought would never end.

She’s still slim and walks like she said she did
after riding with the big wave to shore,
still standing, and donned only the muumuu
she missed in Seattle. The light turns green.
She’s on the other side. He wants to yell,
Bring back Henrietta's King James Bible! 
but thinks, Pack it home under your muumuu,
baby, like any missionary whore.

(4 February 2013)

copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander