How to Spot a Second Wife

Notice the way she twitches

When you bring up

How they’re doing

Ask specifically

‘How are you and ____ doing?’

And watch her eyes

Flutter

Like monarch butterflies

Caught in a spiderweb

She’s looking for the number one

Somewhere in a life

Full of two’s

She’s a second wife

A second chance

A second opportunity

For someone else

But not for herself

For herself, she’s doing it all for the first time

Hoping she won’t need the second shot

She’s giving somebody else

Nothing in her life

Will be the first

Of anything

She won’t produce

Her husband’s first son or daughter

Or even his second son

For that matter

Her best case scenario

Is second daughter

And either third daughter

Or second son

But none of those seem appealing

And so she takes birth control

And pretends she can’t conceive

She bites her fingernails

Because she can’t drink

Or smoke

Because the first wife

Was both a drinker

And a smoker

And her husband

No longer approves

Of either

Notice her nails

Notice how they’re practically

Non-existent

That’s how you know

She’s a second wife

She has to take the bad habits

Other women

Turned down

See how her hair is done

Much too short

For someone with her face

But she has to be careful

Not to have the hair

The first wife did

Which was long

And fell down in every direction

That hair will arouse her husband

But he’ll be aroused

For the woman he lost

Not for the woman he’s with
And so she cuts her hair

And this makes her want to drink

But she chews her nails instead

And her eyelids twitch

While she picks out perfume

At the nearby

Department store

See how she drives?

Fast, but not reckless

Swerving a bit here and there

But only because

She’s trying to get somewhere

Only to arrive and discover

She’s far too early

Even by the standards

Of people who are always early

She’s afraid of missing things

Of being too late

Of being the second person

Anywhere

Her entire life will be spent

In a state of poor timing

Through no fault of her own

But still--she won’t be late again

Next time, she thinks,

I’ll arrive to meet the man

Or thing or chance

I’m supposed to meet

Before anybody else can

But when she gets

To where she’s going

She usually finds herself

In an empty parking lot

And it’s usually

Too cold to stand outside

So she sits inside

Her brand new car

Which is always brand new

But never truly hers

Because she can only afford to lease

What with alimony

And child support being the way it is

These days

She sits in the car

And listens to music

That’s much too old

Both for her to listen to

And be familiar with it

And yet it speaks to her

Look at how she cries to the music

As the lights in the parking lot

Turn on one by one

While she waits for everyone else

To show up

And tell her

That she got the time wrong

And that everything was pushed back by an hour

So all her hard work

Was for nothing

At all