Plain Jane and Me

The first thing I noticed

when she stepped out of her car,

was her angry eyes.

The only damage

to her scruffy old toyota.

was a broken taillight.

She had Tibetan prayer flags

strung across the back window.

Her big old tabby cat, Bagheera

dozed on the dashboard.

I might have been following too close,

when I gave Jane's treasured ride,

a big chrome kiss 

right on one of those bumper stickers

that spell out coexist with a bunch

of religious symbols.

Jane stormed out of her Corolla,

right in the middle of traffic,

those angry blue eyes ablaze.

I yelled, what the fuck you doing,

are you crazy, hippie?

and she yells back,

why don't you watch where you're going,

you trying to give me whiplash?

Or are you blind as well as deaf

from that deathmetal trash

blaring in your big manly truck?

Is that big motor something

you like to think you have

installed between your legs?

Well that was how me met.

Jane is pretty plain

and I'm about the same.

After we got married,

we both became

officers of the national police.

We had matching gray uniforms. 

We looked like we should

be pushing brooms or fixing elevators,

except for the pistols and boots.

We weren't entirely dull,

we shared a small measure

of chemistry and empathy.

Even voted for democrats sometimes.

She sold her old Corolla,

and I sold my big Dodge Ram.

Financed a new red minivan

on a seventy-two month loan,

and agreed there'd be

no bumper stickers.

I still like my Death Metal 

and Jane still loves her Tibetan chants,

so when we ride together

we keep the radio off.

No kids yet, but lying in bed , 

we often picture family camping trips

and soccer games, pancake breakfasts

on Sunday mornings.

Then we watch the late night

talk shows until we get bored

enough to fall asleep.

Back when I rear-ended her,

I saw a splash of red

on the dashboard.

I thought it was blood

and my anger just disappeared,

I pointed to it and asked if she was alright.

That made her laugh.

She said, actually that's where

I prop my feet to paint my nails.

Look, there's still a few grains of sand

imprisoned in the polish

because I'm such a nincompoop

and did it at the beach.