Innocence
I knew he wanted to test me by leaving
his wallet in his pocket where I could
see it, reach for it, take the money in it,
knew he wasn’t spending so long showering
for no reason, singing children’s ballads
I had never heard on his mouth,
knew that when, minutes ago, stroking
my oily cheeks on his chest, he told stories
of his many friends who had been robbed
of their wallets by their younger lovers
he was somehow relating it to me,
even if unconsciously. I knew that
when, walking out of the bathroom, droplets
of water on his gray hair and his broad shoulders,
he said that I was a good one he meant
that he had met his wallet in its right place,
that when he said he would gladly cover
some of my hospital fees, he was likely
rewarding me for my innocence.
