POEM - Foot Massage

All she wants is a foot massage.

It is not an engagement ring.

It is not a thirty-year adjustable rate mortgage
With points.

It is not a deposition given under sworn oath
Beneath the hawkish glare of some
Reptilian lawyer.

It is not a cell phone service contract
Shackling you into generational
Slavery

Or some deal to address and mail ten
Envelopes to your neighbors
For the American Cancer Society.

It is not even like pregnancy
Or having a vasectomy:

It is just a foot massage.

It is the hug of bare feet as they sink
Slightly when first stepping
Onto brand new carpet.

It is that moment in your bed
When you look over at your clock
And realize you have one hour more of sleep.

It is the meniscus edge of that first
Gulp of water that sluices down your
Throat on a hot afternoon.

It is the tight grip of the bed sheet as you
Pull it around bare shoulders
The first cold night before we use heat.

It is the feeling of wearing long pants
For the first time after a summer
Of wearing shorts.

It holds all the smugness of some
Post-coital smirk.

It is the blood red moon that sits
Deep deep in the dark of your eye.