I noticed that you don't touch snow...(A POEM)

I noticed that you don’t touch snow...

but maybe now
you’ll throw your cigarette
in my empty beercan
sometime
lifting it from my grip
with a wink; putting on bright red lipstick
and a dark, blue, wool sweater

& maybe you’ll finger
through the couch
looking for my remote control
finding it just before kickoff
while explaining the pop fly rule

& maybe you’ll scream “FUCK YOU!”
through your fingers
with the steam puffs marching in troops to the ground
as the mailman knocks over my trashcan
and doesn’t apologize when he steps on my
overzealous cat

& maybe you’ll wedge a green, pocket-sized Bible
in your jeans
& tell no one but the closed window
while you brush your long, dark hair

& maybe you’ll help my mother
remove the turkey from the oven
and throw blankets on
my sleeping corpse
& smile at something I can’t comprehend
while the electric is shut off

& maybe, sometime,
you’ll drink a cup of coffee black
& wake me up
& feel under my shirt
& rub my thighs
only to convince me that the waters
are always best in late September

& maybe you love
the snow

but maybe
you’ll do anything
just to keep your hands
warm.

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