There’s poetry, and then there’s not—
You text something funny and inappropriate
So I set the poem aside to reply
Back and forth we volley, batting words lightly,
two teachers reveling in what we’ve earned—
luxurious free time and a friend who thinks we’re clever
Clever?
We’re fucking hilarious, you’d say. This devolves
into a shared fantasy—the chauffeur
we hire to drive our elderly parents around town
to all their errands and urgencies
doctor appointments, morning Mass
All of it, with a few caffeinated texts,
becomes the job of the Handsome Chauffeur.
We make him incredibly sexy
because, why not? He is our spur-of-the-moment creation
so let’s make him hot
Hot, but expensive, especially
on public school salaries.
How will we pay? is what I text to you.
With sex, you answer immediately, adding—
You should be good at it by now since
you’re getting so much practice
I stop texting and call
you
answer, laughing already
or laughing still, saying,
I knew that would get you.
Our smoke-filled days unspool from there
roll after roll of silken time
Puff Of Smoke Poems 