A Perfect Mess

by Martha Landman

It was never meant as
a five dollar combo deal
when we met unexpectedly
in the subway

the smell of piss
at seven twenty six pm a macabre
chlorine dance on our nostrils
your mouth dry and silent

It’s better not to know the
thoughts criss-crossing your mind like
wild dogs, even though the dude next to
you stared as if he read them like a book
of local lingo stuffed in a dream container

I remembered that time at the library:
You were keenly swallowing a sandwich
behind the large print section
when my slobber kiss landed on
the arm of the man in work clothes next
to you just as you stepped away
at the wrong time

Later, you didn’t cry
in the subway: vibrant commotion
all night and day, a plethora of
ankles and hips,
when I told you I didn’t
mean for her to carry my child

It just happened I said
I was waiting for the moment
your raised hand would meet my cheek
but you snorted and mentioned the
strawberry farm where my breath
panted against your chest
as your father’s two shots
rang true

On the platform
behind us a muralist killed
the perfect swell.