Paddling bow in Penobscot Bay,
I heard the Tripping Captain
say across the water
to my counselor paddling stern,
“Six months after the wedding
your wife’s ass
feels just like your own.”
His words broke the shell
of my vast virgin ignorance
and echoed in starlight.

This Wednesday morning in April
I bring coffee to the bed
we’ve slept in for twenty five years
and reach under the covers.
Smiling, you slap my hand.

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