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Victory
At the party the husband tried to defeat
his young son.
At croquet, perhaps. Or table tennis.
The wife at the party watched the husband
leaning over the game
or leaning into talk, setting his jaw, winning.
She turned to a listener. Dusk chilled her.
Breezes dragged
her hair across her face. She said,
“My husband is very competitive.”
The listener watched
a highway of loss and fatigue
form in her mind, stretch for miles.
All the women
in that neighborhood are deciduous wives
married to evergreen husbands.