R

E

C

L

I

N

E

R

Today I poke around your throat and laugh at jokes you steal. At night I search for the remote,

amid the couch, our home’s trench coat, I pat and scrounge, reveal. Today I choke around your throat

a scarf I found inside my tote. (Bones, they squeak, then heal.) At night I search and feel remote,

the more I know, the less I vote and turn my steering wheel. Today you spoke around my throat,

hid words I had, hid my gloat. (Our pillows kiss and squeal.) That fight and search for our remote

may have sucked my last grace note. Cross-leggéd, lost checks, loose meals, some okay coke inside my throat, It’s white! (I lurch for our remote.)