she confides in me

at eighty-two,

she whispers to me

while holding

the ladder,

in a side glance, in a

conspiratorial 

way,

as her husband

turns another screw

in the wall,

i'll never get married

again.

i laugh.

the man adjusts

his hearing and says,

what?

she says, nothing dear,

nothing.

i think one screw

in the wall

will be enough.