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I Missed the War

We live in your SUV
You know, . . .because at my home, mother
At yours, wife 

We ride to places where we can sit
Talk
hear music
jack the heat up and open the sky roof 

We drink there
Sometimes I bring oranges and chocolate
Sometimes we smoke a joint and walk the length of the Charles
so we can drive back
You know, to my mother;
your wife 

Driving home one day we had to wait
for an old woman in a screaming pink babushka
and bell-bottomed denims to cross Comm Ave.
She walked with a cane, but was leading
her swartze boyfriend anyway.

“That’s us in 50 years,” you said. 
The next afternoon at the Charles
carelessly accommodating one another
i point, “Mira, perrito!”
“Apenas como yo.”
“Si, pero el conoce triqim, y tu solamente de saltar. . .”

We laugh like people unafraid of the truth.
You kiss and bite my belly, then come in my hand. 
That night, Lenny (knows triqim, won’t jump) rings
and Mrs. Gold had some Israeli soldier/interior designer phone; he never rang back.
What does he know that I still refuse to see?

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