Devotion

I’m awaiting
the return
of the face I love.

When he does come back
he’ll look down on me, godlike,
from above.

He’ll have that smell
of beery smoke
on his clothes and breath.

He will bend
and pat my head
and call me a good girl.

He will praise me for guarding these premises
on which no alcohol is allowed
by order of the management.

I calculate
the depth of his devotion
by the soft slur of his loving words.

Waiting