B.J. Ward
Daily Grind
A man awakes every morning
and instead of reading the newspaper
reads Act V of Othello.
He sips his coffee and is content
that this is the news he needs
as his wife looks on helplessly.
The first week she thought it a phase,
his reading this and glaring at her
throughout,
the first month an obsession,
the first year a quirkiness in his
character,
and now it’s just normal behavior,
this mood setting in over the sliced
bananas,
so she tries to make herself beautiful
And every morning, as he shaves
the stubble from his face, he
questions everything—
his employees, his best friend’s
loyalty,
the women in his wife’s canasta club,
and most especially the wife herself
as she puts on lipstick in the mirror
next to him
just before he leaves. This is how he
begins
each day of his life—as he tightens
the tie
around his neck, he remembers the
ending,
goes over it word by word in his head,
the complex drama of his every morning
always unfolded on the kitchen table,
a secret Iago come to light with every
sunrise
breaking through his window, the
syllables
of betrayal and suicide always echoing
as he waits for his car pool, just
under his lips
even as he pecks his wife goodbye.
from Jackleg Opera: Collected Poems, 1990 to 2013 (North Atlantic Books)
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