He says
she could be his ideal woman,
if
only
her teeth
were straighter,
her hair
longer,
she wore
make-up,
she was a
better housekeeper,
a decent
cook,
a little
more passive in bed,
a little
more active in bed,
(if
only
she could
discern
which and
when)
if only
she could
move through
his most
avid wet dreams,
pushing
aside his passive Marilyn,
his active
Madonna,
and
prevent him from waking
to face
the actuality
of aging
flesh,
if
only
she could
afford
a few face
lifts,
a
mid-drift tuck,
firmer
breasts,
a
lobotomy,
if
only
she could
stop writing
those
embarrassing poems,
if
only
she could
forgive
an
occasional digression,
if
only
he could
order her
like
pizza
on nights
when he doesnt
want to go
out,
if
only
she could
sit contently
while he
drinks his six-pack
and
belches his way to numbness,
without a
single glance,
if
only
she
didnt leap out of doorways
and dance
about the house
like
someone entranced
by her own
fantasies,
if only
she were
someone else,
if
only
he
were.