Stumble

It took months for him
to ask you over
for a glass of wine
after work.
When you arrive,
he has the bottle open,
music on the stereo
candles lit.
Runs his hands
along your hipbones,
tells you how he
loves your lean body,
invites you into his bed.
A full moon encourages
mutual madness.
You don’t think
about your husband
or lies you’ve told,
marvel at the ease
with which you
toss off clothes,
ten years of marriage.
Infidelity feels good.
You excel at cheating

Snark Muse

He demanded anonymity,
but his suffering was a gift
as he unloaded,
drank himself numb.
Shared gritty stories
too good to ignore.

His torment became my muse,
no confidence off-limits.
I recorded obsessions,
outed his addictions,
exposed perversities
he wanted to hide.

He’d spill his guts,
shove a fist in my face,
warn to keep my mouth shut.
Under duress, I swore his secrets
were safe even as my writing
betrayed and destroyed.

© Jennifer Lagier

Jennifer Lagier has published eight books of poetry. She is a former area coordinator for California Poets in the Schools and is a retired college librarian/instructor, amateur photographer, member of the Italian American Writers Association. She co-edits the Homestead Review as well as The Monterey Poetry Review and help coordinate the Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Sunday readings. Her work has appeared in a variety of literary magazines, most recently Dead Snakes, Subterranean Quarterly, The Potomac, and Wilderness House Literary Review.

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