I shuffle tucked cushions,
damp blankets, and sweaty sheets
with purpose, hunting for her bra.
Sipping ground caffeine
alleviates my hangover;
I’m scratching my head,
ransacking the living room for her bra.
My wife returns from Carolina today.
I lit a match, foiling my backup plan
in a closet of lies.
No bra here,
No bra there,
but I know she left one here.
I blow out my lips.
I’m still searching for a bra.
I cheated on my wife;
still searching for that damn bra.
A front door closed.
Chills crawl the length of my spine,
erecting me to my feet.
“Looking for this?” my wife asks with a crimson gaze.
Twitter – @AC0040
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