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Once at the town swimming pool, When I was a girl, Someone pointed out to me My mother’s high-school boyfriend A blobby man in the water Hair on his back Walrus-like Flopping around I felt no affinity Now I am the mother Of three kids, one merely an infant Plus an ex boyfriend to my credit And a husband who has met expectations Except he drinks too much On the weekends I imagine a reel-to-reel tape recorder Rew

On the forgotten windowsill Glimpsing the heavens Through cloudy plastic Should only I bother To look up. We are saving pocket change For a new dishwasher Instead of repairing That old, broken-down thing. So for now I carry on dutifully With suds and towel At the sink. Once I danced And my heart beat proudly And I sang giddy tunes With my beloved in my arms As waves pounded the sandy beach In the moonlight. Shed no t

I met him at the book store in a long line at the checkout. He was talking about life and politics. I asked him a question that my mother had asked me, which she had heard on a quiz show, I think. “What was the first Beatles song,” I asked, “without the words I, me, mine, or you or your, or we or our, in the lyrics?” He thought for a moment, and then replied, “Eleanor Rigby,” which