I unlocked the door of her house,
a million miles from here.

She isn’t here with us right now
we’re in Cambodia
or China or Vietnam,
I’m not sure which.

That is, all I usually see is
the inside of huts,
bedrooms,
a public bathroom.

he only takes me out occasionally.
he stares at me with a longing;
I know I remind him of her.

He let himself into her house
when they lived in Boston together.
He’d pour a glass of gin,
maybe wait for her to come home
from JFK,
or SFO or LAX,
I’m not sure which.

It’s just a fleeting thought,
them he shoves me back into his pocket.