three weeks in Tahoe

i talk to my lawyer friend jimmy.

i see him
on the park bench outside the courthouse.
he's

down in the dumps. his blue
suit looks like it's been slept
in

and his briefcase is open with
nothing but hamburger wrappers.

he sees me and lifts up an arm
to give me a weak
wave.

i go sit next to him, six feet apart.
slow times, he says,

moving his surgical mask off to one side
of his face.

people aren't getting divorced
right now. they want to more than
ever,

living together in the lock down,
but money is tight.

i ran an ad the other day
promoting a two for one divorce
settlement

for blood related relatives. not a
single bite.

don't worry, i tell him, it's going
to break
at some point and you'll
be crushed with work.

think so? he asks.

yup, i tell him, remember that trip
you took with your ex wife?

three weeks in Tahoe, you almost
killed each other.

yeah, yeah, you're right, and this
has been three months.

damn, you're absolutely right.
maybe i should get my suit ironed
and get ready.