Once a long time ago before I got married
I made the acquaintance of a married woman
She was neither pretty nor young but had blue eyes
and a German accent with a lilt to her voice
Her name was Micheline and we met in Memphis
one day at the bookstore while I shelved poetry
Because she liked to read and she and I both wrote
we were kindred spirits like two drunken barflies
who in misery keep each other company
We took walks in the park visited museums
ate dinner together clandestinely at night
drove down south to Oxford to visit Rowan Oak
home to William Faulkner and Yoknapatawpha
took a ride to Square Books and found a book by Lem
We were neither soulmates nor simply fuck buddies
we spent time together and enjoyed adventures
until I met my wife my first wife my ex-wife
the one who stole my name my last name da Cunha
as if she could marry into a fairy tale
like a maligned princess with her first and last names
full of consonance laugh her parents were funny
Strictly Southern humor kept people in their place
Sandra Kay Sanford kept my Portuguese last name
for whatever reason after our swift divorce
call it professional or what you may it stinks
but what does it matter in the grand scheme of things
the Inquisition gave my family a new name
sometime within the last five hundred years or more
I miss dear Micheline but Sandy is a name
that even to this day makes me spit snake's venom
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