She has seen me.
I stop his
arm from swinging
as he walks. The morning
summer on Cape Ann.
I push his hope of love
making−Oh, he feels good.
But she sees me stiffen
him and then
she and he might have been
for each other, they are about to be
He does not say aloud what I whisper
in his ear my name rather,
rotator cuff is bothering me.
My possession. I'll attempt to cause
their end. They cannot know
that when he inhaled the insect-i
-cide thirty years earlier, I’d now be
his. I am the best kept secret.
Until she sees me. No one
is crawling on their knees just yet.
It will be months before I bring them down.
*August 2009 At the neurologist’s office the diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease is made. The poem is from the manuscript-in-progress, The Mistress.