his laugh

he sounds relieved he is not crying
his compensatory girth
invented to rescue his interior
from how he used to look
with his children he plays simple he plays easy g.
his wife meanwhile says jocose things
about her having married him
she could have had a doctor
and she still has trouble figuring
what made her marry him

she still repeats the mantra
that anointed her in someone's eyes
someone fictitious and someone
she paralyzed with blatantly inaccurate
imposing factlets she might make up
as she went along inventing prior hemlines
he's the kind of prince her light footprints
might have confined to tower longings

he's the kind of a projection she might hurt
if/when confronted by the way she feels
to see this big man looking straight across
beyond himself into the standing weeds
that welcome someone to a pseudo home
communicating that the hurt one feels
is very much contagious and the hurt
one does not speak invents the other selves