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He said it with that hang-dog rimming his eyes,
shoulders turned like a boxer squaring off.
Spoiling for a fight when yes was already there.
There when it was one job and housework after,
long before taking in laundry,
picking cans, shopping second-hand.
There in her spreading open at night,
swallowing her hurt and weariness and aching hands
and becoming his pillow one more time.
There in the litany running through her head:
yes, yes i will and someday after i've raised you up
all these times, you'll turn to me and your arms
will hold me together and i won't go begging overtime.
my knees won't purple praying up the rent
and these broken dreams--they won't lay so heavy
'cause someday you'll turn to me.
But his mournful uppercut was always too fast,
snapping her jaw shut, willing the nod
even though it was never just this once.
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