The Only Evidence
By the end, we had found suitable
likenesses of each other,
pinned to the cork boards kept most secret.
Unlike our spouses, who had worked
in the lacquers of tender and candor,
and whose visions we feared for their mastery,
We took a mutual Polaroid:
bug-eyed grin, dumb troubles of the month,
and stuck it up there,
just in case.
L.J. Atkinson is a poet living and working as a freelance writer in the San Francisco Bay Area, California.