Tangle your sheets
with different bodies,
but never explore
what separates their dewy
skin from the next.

Give them hope 
they can mean something.
Let this linger 
in the air 
as they pull their clothes back
over their heads.
Give them a kiss
for the road.
But once their feet hit 
the pavement,
throw their hair ties and scrunchies
deep inside your closet.
Shut the door on all of it,
along with your lies. 

Count each woman as a number.
Don't give them a name
or etch 
their faces in your memory.
Jot down the experienced 
ones for late nights,
Remember which are flexible.
Cross out the ones who talk
too much or wait to be held 
after all is said and done.
Circle the numbers
that always pick up on the first ring.
Keep them next 
to your bedside table.

Only dial 
when the moon swallows
the sun and spits 
out a coat of darkness.
Boast about who has waited 
for the stars 
to fade,
only to be kicked 
out the time the roaster crows.
Collect your high fives
and store them for lonely days
when you need something to remind 
yourself how much of a man you 
​truly are. 

Silence, 
at the end of the table. 
They just aren't as keen 
as they once were. 

They sit, 
waiting for a sound 
to be swept 
up and carried 
inside. 
But the wind 
these nights 
is quiet,
and still. 

Maybe it was the roar 
from the jets 
as he trudged 
across borders, 
protecting a country insistent 
on making the same 
mistakes. 
Coming home to find himself 
stranded, 
deserted, 
among all the people
he loves the most. 
What happened to
man down
and why are we powerless
to stop it?
​
They miss the click 
of his pen
from the morning crossword puzzles, 
and the afternoon news 
that remind him the world 
will always be one step 
ahead of him. 
But most of all, 
they miss the song 
that wakes him from his armchair. 

Only this time, 
the other line rattles
with vibrations. 

They imagine its happy birthday Papa
and that maybe it's just as crooked 
beautiful as they remember.

They can't hear the words 
that tumble 
out of his mouth to whisper 
I love you, 
but even with a broken 
record player,
the words still ring 
true.