by Andrew Merton
in memory of Jane Pufky Nesbitt
In ‘65 David drove her east,
this secretary from Syracuse,
to meet his college buddies.
David in a Red Sox cap,
unveiling Jane like next year’s Cadillac:
She’s smarter than all you jackasses combined.
Sexier too, and she makes more money.
All of which was true: Jane, blonde,
deadly in a black ribbed sweater,
regarding her cigarette like Lauren Bacall.
Jane was a woman and David, well,
he seemed older.
He reads the paper to her now,
and cooks for her,
even lifts the spoon to her mouth
when she can’t.
He says her Red Sox cap is sexy.
He does a bump-and-grind:
You can leave your hat on.
Jane smiles, closes her eyes.
Jackass, she says,
maybe in her sleep.