Your name has swum away
& the year.
I was the substitute
babysitter (kneesocks,
Bermuda shorts) in for my sister.
Your angular wife had red hair
& having conveyed me to your house
which was ranch (teakiness, glass)
she sequestered herself
to rearrange or repair her persona
or announce my presence
to your kiddies: new girl in town, primed & ready
to read them selections from Grimm's. You appeared:
the doorway of the den:
flash of bowtie & plaid; & took me in.
Your pearly head was tonsured; ginger fringe;
you were anyone's middleaged man.
Were there pleasantries I guess:
thissings & thatings & who was I
reading, what lucky chap had I got
spread apart on my knees: preliminaries
to your sitting down
beside me, on some sofa, some settee
I seem to remember as blue,
& pointing your finger to that stretch of skin
just south of your ear, & patting it
the way my Daddy did, when soliciting
solace. I leaned across your ancient chest
& kissed you
          there. Cologne,
for my birthday, you whispered, incandescant. My wife.
Up you stood. Down you sat.
You kept on watching me.