The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Bruce McRae

A Seven-Headed Love Story


I love your ankles, Mrs. Anderson.
Your underwear drawer. The pins in your hair.
Mrs. Anderson, I love your dishwater.
You’ve a wholesome bosom.

Missus, our star signs were destined for one another.
Our exhaled carbon molecules co-mingle.
Our scars match. We even smell like each other,
our thoughts coming together, but our lives apart.

It’s about your husband, Mrs. Anderson.
The water on his brain. That unavoidable accident.
My imperfect pearl, it’s about your children,
none of whom shall ever bear my name,
my pain, my martyred flesh,
my blushing genes in the mansions of hubris.



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