Thoughts before Going to Bed, Alone

He is not with me tonight.

Fifteen minutes away, and she

is not with him, yet he is not

with me tonight.

This is his night to be

alone. Two or three with her;

the same with me, and how

can I object to him sitting

alone, one night per week?

He stays home, plays the guitar,

cooks dinner, pets the calico cat.

He will call me, and her. Tomorrow

is my night, but tonight

he would rather be alone.

I would rather he were with her.

I would rather that she rested in

his arms, that he kissed her

gently, that she smiled with the

pleasure of his company,

laughed at his jokes.

I would rather that their sweaty

bodies lay entangled, a sweet

exhaustion heavy in their limbs.

He is wasted on the cat.


M.A. Mohanraj

February 24, 1998