There Is Husband or No

Say I have a husband

Guilt is magical

And what I really have is a ladder
leaning against
an antiquated barn

Where hay snores
like a man and passes days full
of needles like a heroin addict

or a methadone clinic
and I am one of those swearing
smoking women

withdrawing on
the couch

Guilt is magical

my baby is a thirteen month old fever
crawling the walls
and the walls are not nearly

punishment enough
for having a baby with
no husband to keep

me from
Marlboros

from the coup
of my sultry
addiction

Guilt: lovely, magical

and addiction claws at itself
mercilessly in the chicken’s opium den
at the dull edge

of the hay there is
husband or no

husband and always the
singing scream of a kid,
plenty of guilt to go round.

Plenty of easy, say like sleeping
your way up the ladder.