She twirled in the Santa Ana winds
like a satellite finding its orbit in the driveway.
The Eagles Greatest Hits played for the fifth time in a row
because letting it play was easier than finding another album
that everyone drinking could tolerate.
She really liked singing along to Desperado.
You felt indestructible, even knowing that when reality
returned, the woman you watched would be someone else’s wife.
But it could wait. Let it wait. Let it hang there like the moon.
No need to even mention it.
You couldn’t blame the alcohol, because you drank
yourself sober long before, and can’t pretend
you didn’t know what was coming, when she stepped back
inside, the wind still whispering around her, remarked that
the stars had brought you here, and then looked in your eyes,
and said oh so seriously, that infidelity isn’t a problem
but a symptom of a problem,
and you, of course, agreed.