The Sensible Girlfriend

for C. Like shoes she chose for comfort, not for style, that fit her contours without chafe or blistering Here is sanity. It took her years to arrive, like an explorer settling at last into uneasy retirement, a small cottage at the edge of the sea. How the breakers crash against the underpinnings; still, the walls hold firm. Hearth blazing steadily, she tries to warm to it tells herself she is mature now, this is good. The days of stalking, done, the rabid pulse, the blood-drenched kisses, all behind her now. Wearied, finally, of careless cruelties, she will stay here, grow old with you. And, sensible, lacking her gift for self-deception, you know she struggles with devotion, you listen as she moans inside her dreams, and watch, without remarking, as she tracks the tap of high heels just beyond the window, their rhythm growing fainter with each step.