"Will you be so good to put my pajama pants on?"
"Of course, my love," I said to one
Of her novel new honey-do items.
It wasn't until 3 AM at night,
When some words from an old song
"Even when you died..."
Filtered in like a dream
That I sat bolt upright
And started bawling the tears
I had saved, it seems, for this moment
When my wife, through the transference of art
Became that old starlet hounded in death
For her nakedness. It was something about
The friendlessness of angels
And the deals we must make to walk upon this sphere.
And so private tears came from a most public song,
Tears like a storm in Oklahoma
That may even end sometime,
No one knows.
