francis and francie

francis

longs for the erections

he had at twenty

but not the desperation

-the two a.m. departure

in the cold.

and francie curses

what gravity

and the twins did

to her stomach and her tits.

not something they confide in

after the last forensic drama

ends at ten o'clock

before the news,

when they set the alarm

for mornings spent

with greek style yogurt

and dark roast beans from costco

and the drama waiting

on their favorite websites.

most of which

they don't share.

by eight

they are capable

of conversation.

dinner plans and chores,

appointments.

and of course

the chance of rain.

francie has a text from sally

asking about a birthday party

for the twins on saturday.

they have a theme

and can she bring

some stuff for gift bags,

gender neutral of course

because,  you know.

and francis stares

in wonder at a video

of radioactive wolves

roaming the ruins of pripiyat,

hunting rabbits.

francie says

you ready, hon?

the girls have

a sleep over friday

if you want to maybe

do something?

and francis fantasizes

the things he'd like to do

to her on friday night,

if only he was still

the way he was

at twenty.

ponders if it's time

to consider medication.

francie pictures

the five minutes

of satisfactory routine

while the audi commercial

and the push up bra commercial

and the teasers for the latest,

last minute-est titillations

playing on the tube unmuted,

accompany their coupling.