Stop Asking

this morning I did not give four and a half stars
to the view of my wife's half-nude
pregnant body, her blue nightgown twisted
  
from sleep's turnings, her blond hair stormed against the goldenrod pillowcase
  
which began pilling the second night after
we'd purchased the cheap sheetset on impulse
because stripmalls, Kohls next to Kroger
  
like "Romeo and Juliet" playing on iTunes before
a song called "Heaven" + yesterday I stood
  
blank minutes before the green peppers sure searching through them just
  
a bit longer would yield more, that I'd secure for my
grateful stomach somehow the Best Green Pepper Ever
  
but still dinner's just dinner in this case quinoa
with black beans and cilantro which is a meal
my wife seems to like though she's never
  
rated it or told me what else I should put on the stove beside it to heighten its flavors
  
or whatever. This morning she was asleep +
her body was only itself, the beautiful body, my tongue
and I did no battle regarding eloquence or precision
  
as it lay like a dalmation satisfied to let cars
pass barkless in the fire-engine red of my mouth
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Weston Cutter
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Weston Cutter

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