Mark Novak

Rescue Wife

(A Triangle of Desperation in 8 Sonnets)

Wind-whipped list lines flutter past in a CraigsList ad,
Resigned desperate measure, portraiture downcast. 
Insufficient were the pills of a self-slaughtered gesture,
Stomach pumped, producing yet another suicidal failure.
And so, there it is, -insecure in love, insecure in security,
Pen thy note and toss your bottle into a raging digital sea.
Perhaps some other survivor, stranded on some other isle
(No man is an island, but many live on one), yet while
Reading over coffee, shall then discover:  "Rescue Wife.
Age 65, will move anywhere to escape this strife.
I still look good, stir up sauce & can cook like a wizard,
Great IQ, sews and loves to laugh -(when happier)"
And should Galahad cork his own note, press send,
Catapult his binary salutories to satellite, ..What then??

All her life at a parlor party, Pauline was a bon vivant.
Ne'er to work but only her charms to achieve wants,
Needs; a poor girl can go far on her looks,
Art of the domestic; Cosmo, and Redbook-
What man could resist those feminine wiles?
Not Sutro; who wedded that youthful smile.
Seemingly set and arrived at long last,
Upwardly mobile in the top most caste
Pop the cork and champagne flowed and flowed,
Living large on the old money of the old
Family's bathhouse, entitled and fortuitously blessed,
Big house, big car, big life, big bites, and big debts...
Buckling those knees on widening cracks of distress,
'Til fortune and years lost, put Pauline out penniless.

Big John crunches numbers and works the balance sheets,
Balancing life for his clients before balancing his own needs.
Except for food, his companion since his wife ever long fled,
Gluttony and equations reign supreme on Maslow's pyramid.
Resistance of the inevitable, a man becomes his furniture,
Get out and do something, fat man; or dine on your dismal future.
It comes to this: Accept what you cannot change,
Or change what you cannot accept.  Risk to arrange
Some unpredicted experience. -Puppy! -Dunce Fool!!
What chance did your figure ever have those days in school?!
Money makes the difference! Perhaps it can't buy happiness,
But it can always be rented whenever the carnal need arises,
Demons at the door, risk-rewards on the floor, o' this dance scene,
Palms start to sweat in the constern'd moment John meets Pauline.

Rascal on the prowl. -Howls of a mad cat moaning on and on
From the alley to the ballroom; in the cloak of darkness, sits Tom.
Beneath a mirrored ball, reflective, dizzied, lotus blossom,
Tom peruses the crowd for some conversation to take home.
And lo, there, a new virgin has sauntered in upon the set,
Paired with a fat, hopeless laugh, and sullen look of regret.
Those legs and that face could do better than this settlement,
Strange pairing, Laurel and Hardy in another fine predicament,
Body language, -Tom is aware, -does always tell the story;
That feline has no investment in the gamble. The more he
Dreams on his dry desert discovery, O’ Antony & Cleopatra!
The more the grapes sweeten, a pocket poke confirm his Viagra
Is ready there. He looks for hands of time, calculates the clock,
Patience is key to the hunter, key to the kill and key to his plot.

Having dolorously danced the doll about the crowded hall,
The big man excuses himself leaving his flower on the wall;
Answer to nature's call. Be damned- this diabetic ancillary!
But all pursuits must have their rests & John is wisely wary
Not to overbear. Offer your hand, let timidity administer a sniff test,
As he grooms and douses cologne to mask the stench of sweat.
Seated before the circling pack, Pauline's mensurate motivation
Asks What's to be Lost and What's to be Gained?? Explanations
Mother instilled, teach circumstantial children hard and well,
Reach for the next monkey ring, regroup your charms until
The bill of fare is due, -paradise promised, transplendent wish,
One must always starve a man, before teaching him how to fish.
Roused from her reverie, stands a rough and dangerous advance-
Smiling, Tom extends a callused hand and asks Pauline to dance.

Swirl and Spin! The Wind In Your Hair! O Craic! Caution Capsizes-
Rhythmic Ride of Muscled Leg That Drives Between Her Thighs.
What Devil Is Here, Cipher Person Bearing Torch To Scorch A Seeded Earth,
Wild Whispers In A Hungry Ear; Are Open To Pleasure And Open To Hurt.
Sleeted Storm Of Pheromone, Prim Trembling Stature Starts To Falter
Heavy Breath, Wolf At The Neck And The Lamb Is Praying For The Altar.
Arm Wrapped, Constrictor Coiled, Digits Dig Deep For Better Hold To Gain,
Lust Wants Lust, Tumescent Burning Heat Of Moist Throbbing Organs.
Tom Lowers His Register, Draws An Ace, A Better Offer Is Better Played
An Invitation To See The Treasure In A Better Buy-In, In A Better Place.
What Is Lost, Mother? What Is Gained? What Is Blessed? What Is Cursed?
Heart A Flutter, She Nods Her Head, And Retrieves Her Coat And Purse.
Freshly sponged, John bears witness to the backs of the heated egress,
Acquiesced abandonment take the big man home to sleep with fool-largesse 

Thump-Pop! Indented sheet metal collapses beneath the bodied weight,
Legs in the air on the hood of the car, consummation that cannot wait.
Take her now and take her away in the flood of this parking lot lamp.
Test of the shocks, where brakes will not hold and hoses come unclamped.
Ride Sally, Ride! So Hard To Handle, Paradise Before The Dashboard Light.
And In This Moment If Wanting Her Is Wrong Then Tom Does Not Want To Be Right.
Show Her Your Power, Your Thrust, How You Are Ever A Man Unmet.
Give It All To Her, But Not Just Yet-The Bite And Scratch, But Not Just Yet.
And The Pores Pique, There Is The Slathered Rub! In A Harried Horripilation
Tantric Trials Resist And Resist, Until At Long Last They Give Over Ejaculation,
The Cat Howls In Collapse, Hard Breath Mists Out Upon Her Breasts,
Tom Cannot Believe His Luck, He Swears To God And On All That Is Blessed.
John adjusts his glasses as his eyes grapple with the surreal and bizarre;
"A-Hem," his clearing throat intercedes, "I believe you are on my car…"

Off of the sheet metal in an ignominious moment, caught with pants down,
Hand in hand they are swallowed by the dark, leaving naught but the sounds
Of laughter, as they run in tandem from the awkward judgement of their act.
Away to some mad future; cosmic collisions occur, subjects of laws that attract.
John does the math as he unlocks the door and seats himself before the wheel.
Pythagorean: 50% of marriages end in divorce, while 60% of 2nd tries reported fail, 
Those fools addicted to pain learn 73% is the exponential growth for a 3rd attempt at bat.
When the inning is over and all is rigged, these are the constants of mathematical fact.
Numbers are far safer. -And the Tom cat should know better, if you can trust in gossip speak. 
He's been married three times prior before his brutalities prompted successive brides to leave. 
If only- John woefully yearns- he had been born some other body, some other skill and face, 
Perhaps his challenges would then be simpler, to attract some companionship of his taste.
A woman of substance and intelligence to share his savings, his interests and joys in life, 
Twilighted years as shadows grow long, he remains a drowning man seeking a rescue wife.