I woke into another man’s day

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I woke into another man's day
and grumbled his opinions over his newspaper
and kissed his wife at the morning door
and the bus driver knew his name and his special
curse for Monday and the waitress knew his eggs
like he likes 'em
and I finally understood the stocks and bonds pages
and could nod confidently at his secretary
and on his desk his wife is sad in the eyes of her photo
and makes me think of all the operations crisscrossing
her belly and in his drawer I find brochures
of bright Miamis
and later I eat his meal and see his reflection
on the microwave oven and watch his children silent
stare, pushing pot roast slow across their plates
into the mush of mashed potatoes
and through his door into the cool evening mist, I kneel
in his knees, look up to where the mute stars
shine and put his face into my opened hands.
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