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You Could Just Kill Him

for the time
he left you
stranded on
the corner
of 3rd and
Lincoln in
the pouring
rain

with that wind
biting at your
skin like a 
thousand angry
teeth.  Or for
the time he told
all of your co-
workers, including
the big boss, during
last year's Christmas
party that you snore,
clip your toenails
in bed and drink 
whiskey straight outta
the bottle whenever
the mood strikes you.

You could just kill him
for the way he mispronounces
your name when he's drunk,
slurring Lisa into Leeza
and falling into walls.

But, then he's asleep.
All acute angles soften
and curl in their slumber
and you watch him as he breathes
and murmurs and dreams and you take
hold of his hand and you press it to your cheek
and you inhale of it
and your heart,
Oh Lord, skips a beat,
and you pray, Oh Lord,
let him keep.

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