Essence

She drove to the wildlife refuge for a final assignation

before marrying a limp civil servant.

Marriage next weekend.

A lifetime of herbicides, somnolent sex,

subjugation of her inner satyr,

godless Easter Sunday casseroles in suburbia.

Fire in the burn barrel raged on the patio.

I threw rosemary in at midnight for witchcraft.

We drained a fifth of Rebel Yell while hazed in rosemary smoke.

She wore panties, bra and a sheepskin coat some kid left behind in my classroom.

I played our song, “Essence” by Lucinda Williams on guitar.

She jumped onto my lap, nearly crushing the guitar.

I kept on playing, she sang along to our favorite verse:

Baby, sweet baby, I wanna feel your breath
Even though you like to flirt with death
Baby, sweet baby, can’t get enough
Please come find me and help me get fucked up

She found a flashlight and began a strobe light striptease.

Bats appeared, dipped, dived around her.

She’d never seen bats before and was delighted.

I told her not to marry him.

I told her I could break them up.

She didn’t say not to try.

She said, “I’ve got to marry him so I can divorce him.”

She never did.

I never tried.