Saw my old pal Dusty Ruination, the Bad Cowboy Poet, in a WalMart parking lot the other night. Had to settle a small gambling debt. He swore he’d give me the cash, but instead he just stuffed a couple of pages into my hand and stomped off all disgusted.
Guess it’s better than nothing.
Take it away, Dusty…
When working nine to five, I’d see
These lovebirds in the lunch room, leaning
‘Cross their cappuccinos over break.
She was a fading Celtic goddess,
He a graying jock, and they looked
Married twenty years if it’s a day.
But they weren’t wedded to each other.
Both had their own families, and
Never saw each other otherwise.
No intimacies other than
The words that passed between them, but
They shared the closest hours of their lives.
I tell them you’re my “work wife”
‘Cause we spend our days together
Swapping tales of how life is, and ought to be.
So let’s share another helping
Of this pure distilled attention.
Stealing time to give each other what we need.
You have your husband, I my wife
And neither of us wants to wreck
a home. And we both dearly love our kids.
The consequences of flirtation,
Best left to imagination,
Won’t allow what clearer thought forbids.
By mutual consent, not much:
No business trips, no lingering touch, and
No more than a peck upon the cheek.
But I see your beauty every day,
And given half a chance I’ll still
Respectfully admire your physique.
This modern working life is strange
That you and I can get to spend
More “couples time” than we do with our mates.
No matter what the weekend brings,
Our crazy friends, our families,
On Monday mornings sanity awaits.
Now my career has naught to show,
No patents and no IPO,
But still I’ve gained an unexpected wealth.
Your friendship is the finest thing
I’ve earned in all my wanderings.
You know me better than I know myself.
Dusty knows a thing or two.