the highschool queen

he tells me too often
about his
wife.

how beautiful she was in high
school.

how gorgeous. how lean,
how
desired she was.

he takes out a folded picture
of her
in his wallet

and sets it on the table.
black and white,

the corners crimped.
look at her, he says, looking

into my eyes for approval.
was she something else,
or what?

she's wearing a cheerleader

outfit, her leg kicked

high in the air

in the stadium lights.

and then she returns with a drink
in hand

she smiles. a tooth is missing.
one black.

she's limping. her blouse is out.
a tent
about her.

her hair is a reddish silver,
thinned. her arms
are fish

that wobble as she pulls out
a chair.
like her legs, they swim.

there's a small blue smudge

of a crab

on her hand.

he takes away the picture before
she sees it.

and we go on with our laughs,
we pretend.