113 Degrees

"Lydia and I,

----we live alone,"  she said.

(We met on a quiet street corner,

in the heat-stricken city

after years of separation.)

"Who is Lydia?"

my foolish lips asked.

"My baby,

I'm not married, you know!"

(As if I were a judge;

she spoke so defensively!)

Asked I, "Happy?"

"No, I loved him, still do;

but he's married,

and. . .

well, you know.

But I love my baby!"

 

(I didn't know,

but I'd seen so many like her.

Alone, hiding lonely;

a baby, "token of love"

from a man
with a readymade

family excuse.)