Couvade

Couvade

        A box without hinges, key, or lid,
        Yet golden treasure inside is hid.

man with a white chest big
as a barrel and slick as an oyster
with sweat in the morning by the toilet
he holds his distended belly in thick wristed
hands as it rumbles and sticks and swims

man goes to work where he sits
on a wall all day
it is hard work to brace his body
men in suits shake their horses’ heads
man proudly strokes the balanced bow

man eats mostly pitted
fruits, craves an inconvenience
as it is winter and apricots are
dry as old women’s wombs

man pushes knobbled fingers against
temples the tremble thrills
against him and his teeth snap
so hard they float
before day breaks he has not slept once

man goes to work where
he falls
it is the wrong hatching
and only cure
his eyes on different shards of
his belly shell he sees at two angles
all the king’s horses and men
gathering the pieces all
but the last part of him, his

man made yolk
glossed on the pavement
sun sopped and gently cooking