If only I hadn’t seen the baby bonobo
with the cleft palate. If only the little leg
braces didn’t stick out from under the little
boy’s too-short short pants. If the mute girl
with a mop of curls had sung
“Barrett’s Privateers,” and the paraplegic had
danced down the hallway. If only we
were communicating. If only you
loved me and our bodies weren’t
so ugly and I hadn’t noticed
your naked totter toward the bathroom
late at night. I would have seen
what’s left—white bowl, three lemons.