i can save him

she says to herself
while lying in
bed, hands folded
against her body,
as if in prayer,
I can change him.
I can get out my
womanly bag of tools
and snip and mend,
turn screws.
take the emery
cloth and polish
out his uncouth ways.
take the edge off
his ragged corners.
I can fix the leaks
of his mouth,
turn ambivalence
into adoration
with a mere
stroke of paint
across my lips.
I can sweeten
the sour out of him.
I can save him
from the scrap heap
where the others
have been tossed away,
then call him
my own.