Frostwriting

They Do Not Wish You To Know

by Jennifer Campbell

Divorce isn’t bothersome in all cases,
may even save both parties from having
to pretend they don’t need the more

offered by another; unfaithful is harder
to define than you’d expect, nothing
unequivocal about emotions tumbling

between foreign palms and chests.
It’s not weird to count off steps
as you walk, night-blind, through

the house or wake up and notice
the sword propped by the fireplace
all these years.  You really can say

whatever you want, no need to wait
until age fifty—people may not like
what they hear, but that’s half the fun;

poems involving pets please several readers,
nothing more worthy of envy than
a cat’s effortless sleep while tax forms

and sympathy cards wind through
your restless mind.  Whole ideologies
can be cracked in a single moment,

faster than reconciling Santa Claus isn’t real.
And we have every right to ask
what forces are calling the shots.

We all rail against injustice until
it’s our turn at the spotless deli counter.