Exit 7

Fantasy  

I want to marry a garbage man
who gets up before 5 to haul memories
the rest of us want so badly to ditch
that we chuck them or carefully wrap them in twine.  

His stench would be mine
mingled with everyone's ideas that are scrapped,
his finger on the pulse of my neighbors' secrets,
their meals unfinished, the tissues we dab at our snot and tears

 
all picked up and carried away by my guy.
And when we'd make love he'd be knowing,
weary with resentment but I’d melt it with gratitude
and lemons that slick off his scent.

At my high school reunion he'd be the hunk with eyes of a vet
who’ll chat on gentrification and making an honest buck
and I'd have this man who gets the kids at 3, is too tired to drink,
and tells me which streets sleep peaceful and still.

by Alexandra Beers