by Joanna Gilman Hyde

How pleasant that was

having Eliza bring out Her Laundry Basket

to fold Her Clothes beside Me

as We both sat on The Stoop

listless in The Afternoon Light

— no wind —

mild enough for bare feet or socks

while We imagined what kind

of House Wife She would be:

“Better than You,” She said

I said, “So rich You would have a maid”

“So rich I could micro-lend

to poor women in Saudi Arabia”