Sometimes prompts take me in strange directions
I don’t have secrets from my husband.
That’s my biggest secret, the one
That surprises people, especially the ones who fancy
They have a certain type
Of bad girl pegged. All the facets I hide
From the world at large, he helps me polish.
The weakness for Scotch
And butch women and arrogant men?
He buys the Scotch. He encourages
The dates. In a back room hazed with blue smoke,
There’s a version of me wearing glossy red lipstick
And very little else, blowing the patrons.
He knows about her. He knows about the one
Who rides off on a Harley, some little tramp in torn jeans
Riding bitch on the back,
The one who mates with dolphins,
The one who tore up the psych referral.
He even knows about the side of me who likes
To wear pearls and an apron, to out-Cleever June
And be his perfect housewife, the one whose biggest secret
Is that she’s not as wild
As she might like you to believe.