We were at this craft fair
Quilts and pot holders
Goats’ milk candles and god knows.
My wife likes this stuff
And I go along. I call it
“Putting money in the marital account,”
And besides, somebody has to pay.
This little woman came hobbling up to us
About 50 inches tall under her piled-up hair
She had Chinese coins for earrings
Geisha make-up, and clothes
Somewhere east of Gypsy.
She pointed at my wife and started shouting,
“Your husband’s having an affair
I saw it! I saw it!”
“Get out of here you little troll,” I said,
“You junkyard psychic, go away.”
She scuttled off, head down
With ratlike speed and efficiency.
We never saw her again.
So, do you think that was the end of it?
If so, you are not married.
For six months I had tears
And great loudness.
“Was it Sherry-Lynn?
Taylor? Ashley? All of them?”
After a while, it got funny.
“Honey,” I said, “You’re flattering me.
I don’t have the strength
To do what you’re accusing me of.”
Eventually, she subsided.
Thank god my conscience is immaculate.
Well, almost immaculate.
Close enough. Nobody’s perfect.