she’d roll over in the morning and he’d be there –
deep in some performance of arithmetic on his fingers
like a child,
and when she’d ask what he was
doing he would smile and say –
just counting my blessings…
I know, Ava – bleak.
But gratitude can be an aphrodisiac – she became
accustomed to it all.
He loved her,
or loved loving her –
which is the same
at first.
Her landlord threatened to put her rent up,
so in she moved
with Maestro Paul,
who owned his place – you see, Ava,
the things your job can drive us to?
Beige on beige on beige with purple velour
curtains and metal skulls on all the shelves.
It was only after she moved in,
the intensity began to wane.
He had shows, rehearsals all the time, and when he was
around he seemed annoyed by her, corrected her
grammar when she spoke.
With the love withdrawn she leaned
into that absence, filled it.
Now she was coming to his shows, making
dinners that she thought he’d like, complimenting him,
crying all the time.
She liked to run. Would run most mornings to
clear her head.
One day, to her surprise, he asked if he could join
her. He wasn’t exactly the jogging type.
Shortly after they set-off he flagged, was bright
red, panting, said he had a stitch.
He sank into the pavement. A little puddle
of a man. She felt disgusted but walked back to check
on him,
he was pretending to tie his shoelace.
