No-one ever told me

that men don’t run around
in tights and a crown, kissing
reluctant maidens with whom
they then go to the seashore.

They also refrained from
mentioning that little humans
may keep you up all night or, later,
put rubber gloves full of orange
juice first in the freezer and then
the neighbor’s bed.  

Not to speak of husbands
who don’t come home at night
and make you seriously look
for your own mind because
they claim you’re losing it.

Then there are the comfort smokes
that make you contemplate
the ever after with considerable
benevolence when you sit
on the swing in the night garden
listening to the crickets and
watching the fast shadows
of passing bats.

—Rose Mary Boehm, Lima PERU