Green Revolver: Poems

On the Weekend

37 On the Weekend I was leaning toward Jeannie to tuck her in when she sprung up and gave me a left cross. The surprise of it, more than the meat of her balled fist, threw me back over the baby carriage, where I met the shelf full of books that ended with Happily Ever After. I thought of rainbows and laser beams, mushroom cakes and cookie salad she made for me in her kitchen the day before. Liking it was never enough.All of it was a lie. She was in waiting, poised to punch me out and hurl me out of her musical in the works. I didn’t look to see if she was still in bed or following up with a bronco-busting daddy ride down the steps. So I crawled into Jeremy’s room to see if our boy was awake. I found him standing over me, holding two beakers of different-colored fluid. Which is the fruit juice and which is the soy sauce, right? I asked. He poured both beakers on me. When I awoke my face was buried under several layers of bandages. I watched plus signs and kaleidoscopic 38 snowflakes develop from the back of my eyelids until I felt a presence, heard a voice from the foot of the bed. Lenny honey, this is Dora,your wife, it said. We’ve all recovered from our missteps. I want you to know we’re all waiting for you to come home. I began to cry as the quiet came back to the room, but I was a man with a puffy head and no face. A few minutes later I heard the flipping of a magazine, and footsteps. ...