for us.

Grad school, grad school,
grad school, travel?
Peace Corps?
Let's just get married
and have a baby,
to hell with all the rest.
No, that won't do.
I'd like to, love to actually,
but we both know that you
can't be latched to a dull woman
with sagging, milky breasts.
Not just yet, anyway.
Besides, I need to find me,
then I'll see if you fit.
I don't need a bouncing eight pounds
four ounce swaddling to tend to
between the wash and cooking your dinner.
Would it have your eyes
or mine?
I could be climbing a mountain in Switzerland,
wearing a parka, reflective sunglasses, and chapstick.
Or I'd be making love to a fiery Brazilian, shaking my
hips to and fro, to and fro.
But even in the midst of those things, I'd probably
think of you, wishing you were there.
So, I'm staying for us. You hear me?
For us.