Separation

You’re standing like a stranger and your eyes
are lying, leaking sadness in embarrassed puddles.
All the time you’re trying to say she's leaving.

When it's out, I hug your shaking body, hold you
tight and cannot speak. And then I let you go,
you lovely boy, and we resume a manly distance,
pressing tears between our awkward words.

This senseless kitchen drama has no lines for me.
I want to unknow everything you've said, send you
back towards your car, see you driving home to find
your marriage sleeping, only dreaming it had died.

I can't. You don't. My wife and daughter crash into
the house and all that we can do is snap on smiles
and say hello, and cry inside, and go our separate ways.