It's easier to be mad than sad...

She doesn't even know me
Doesn't know
I sleep with a pillow
between my legs
to level out my back
And she doesn't know
how I hate the sound nail-
biters make when chewing
the fleshy skin around the cuticle
the little nibbles that soon turn
red and bloody
She doesn't know the
inside of me or
even the outside, how I
break out in a rash
in the spring, then again in
fall because of Alders,
the weedy tree that blooms
after they've clear cut a lot
for a row of townhouses
or a new Walmart
She doesn't know that
peppers, no matter what
color,
give me gas
or that I can't stand
spicy foods
because they make
my stomach hurt
late into the night
or that I prefer dark
chocolate to light
or blueberries when
they're fresh and
never as jam
that I drink skim milk
with cocoa
or that I dunk my
whole grain seeded
bread
into my soup
just long enough
to make the bread limp
and drippy
She has no idea
that at night
when I can't sleep, I count
backwards and then
again by fives and then
by threes
just to bore myself
back into my dreams where
a soundtrack plays loudly and
wakes me humming a song each
morning...usually Sondheim,
"a weekend in the country
how exciting,
how terribly fun"
...or this morning, a classic,
"When you're a Jet,
you're a Jet all the way..."
She doesn't know I'm
47
no longer 12
no longer 8
no longer 4
She doesn't know I'm
really older than
she is
in so many ways
though the numbers
don't add up
the years are all wrong.
She doesn't know
how each morning,
I count my steps
into the kitchen
then count the seconds
as the steamer heats the milk
then count the seconds
as the coffee swirls into the foam
then count one
two
three
four
five,
it must always be five,
turns of the spoon,
then count my steps
back to the bedroom
where I wake my lover with
one kiss on the forehead,
and the thud of the
mug on the nightstand,
then walk back to the kitchen,
counting my steps
and the dog's steps as well
to pour cereal, then milk
one, two, three, four, five
She doesn't know how seconds
pass in my life
how seconds skip right
into hours
how I am content
and sometimes sad
and a little tired of
the weather, and the gray,
and the rain
but overall,
I am content, at peace,
and working on my
humility
and
forgiveness
She doesn't know me, has
never tried, is so wrapped up
in sarcasm and spite
she doesn't have time to feel
jealous
just bitter
with that smile
of hers
and the giggle
that always follows
the curve
of her mouth
she spits her bitterness
my
direction
always
with the wind at her
back and tells me
to RELAX,
in capital letters
as if
as if
as if
she knows me

and now I cannot
RE-LAX
because I'm wiping
spit off my face
and off my new glasses that
she
doesn't
even
know
I
picked
up
just
to-
day

No,
I cannot make sense
of what she doesn't
know.