She turned to me with her moon-round face
and said, “I wish more things were like sex –
something to be panted about, labored over
and given the most delicate of attention,”
said all this as if my company wasn’t enough,
as if she expected me to take her right there against the bus window,
as if I knew or could know what her passion should be.
Outside a child pushed the crosswalk button again and again
as the beast that falls in and out of everybody.