Rich Women in Seaside Towns Wearing Pashminas Their Husbands Bought for Them

They collect themselves

On the rocks

Wind blowing their hair

In such a way

That it only serves to make them look

More beautiful

But non-threatening

And peri-menopausal

And all at the same time

They check into hotels

That are quaint

And quirky

And run by a burly man named Steve

And his mother Dot

Steve will flirt with them

And Dot will offer to fatten them up

And they’ll delight in these whimsical

Seaside people

And their whimsical seaside attitudes

Back home

Their husbands are sleeping with secretaries

And nanny’s

And waitresses from restaurants

Where couples go to celebrate their anniversaries

With salmon and couscous

Then their husbands
And the women sleeping with their husbands head
To some lovely hotel

To make love for five minutes

Then read articles from the Atlantic
On their phones

Before bed

Here in seaside towns
The rich women wearing pashminas

Think about opening up

A shop of some kind

A shop that sells jam, maybe

Or scarves

Or scarves and jam

It's titillating
The opportunity
The chance

The chance to start over

To begin again

To start living

Really living

It's almost too good to pass up

But the WiFi sucks

And the nearest mall

Is over two hours away

So the dream of small town life

Is left to reside

In the smallest fantasies

They can think up

They lay the pashminas

Their husbands bought for them

On the bed in their hotel room

While they have a soak
In the courtyard pool

And drink cocktails made
By Dot's daughter Dawn

They sit by the pool

Soaking

Drinking

Soaking

Crying a little

But not too much

Because, after all, they’re still rich

They still have at least five credit cards

And a suitcase full of DK attire

That they can wear on the beach

They still have access to moisturizer

And cold cream

And hair brushes

Made of imitation ivory

They still look good

For their age

--Whatever age that is

They stopped keeping track

After forty

And they know a few good divorce attorneys

More than a few

It seems like everyone they know

Is a divorce attorney

After you turn forty

Divorce attorneys

Begin befriending you

At a rapid rate

Assuming that soon

Your time will be up

And the assumption

Is frequently astute

They think about contacting

Their husbands

To let them know

That they’re all right

And not dead
And so they're very lucky

Some husbands aren’t just sociopaths

But violent sociopaths

When you make the decision

To marry a rich man

There are only so many ways

Things can end

And sometimes

They end very, very badly

The rich women wearing pashminas
Begin to list the things

Their husbands

Have bought for them

Over the years

And as they list

They close their eyes

And imagine

The water in the pool

Is the sea

And there are waves

And boats

And fish

And fisherman

And it all goes on forever

And it never leads to shore