He took the cell phone to his sleep
To the left of sleep the phone rang
Head leaned to shoulder to listen
To its silence and hushed whispers
As the conversation flowed its way. Head belonged to man whose wife
Wrote on other men's army wives
Who are not just Swiss army knives.
She is the one head says,in whispers,
The saint had ordered it to marry. The head whispers in all its silences.
Its dreams lie scattered in army wives
Prim and proper, in their clipped English.
Her own dreams are black and white
Against the army khakhi of barracks.
She a poet, like a werewolf is married
To a khakhi gentleman, a major moon
Not a minor marital matter,the latter.