You might be a fish that rejected your husband. 
So you swam, scaling off what you’d gleaned of matrimony— 
monogrammed towels to rub each other raw, 
water filters to absorb traces of valium and lithium 
and offer a sense of mutual engagement. 

I thought of you as a salmon. The scintillation of fear.
An ongoing litany: Leave before it’s too late. This is when 
you’ll take back lifelong assurances. Watch them 
struggle in the undertow of senescent riffles. 

Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He has a wife, Vickie and a daughter, Sage. He is a three-time Pushcart nominee and a Best of the Net nominee whose work has appeared in hundreds of publications including Poetry Salzburg Review, Bluestem, Emrys Journal, Sierra Nevada Review, Two Thirds North, The Red Cedar Review and December Magazine. He has poems forthcoming in Broad River Review, The William and Mary Review and The Louisiana Review. 

Read more of Richard King Perkins II's poetry here:
Toys at the Edge of the Room