Foley Catheter. by Kimberly Johnson

I clean its latex length three times a day
                            With kindliest touch,
               Swipe an alcohol swatch

From the tender skin at the tip of him
                           Down the lumen
                To the drainage bag I change

Each day and flush with vinegar.
                          When I vowed for worse
               Unwitting did I wed this

Something-other-than-a-husband, jumble
                            Of exposed plumbing
               And euphemism. Fumble

I through my nurse’s functions, upended
                             From the spare bed
              By his every midnight sound.

Unsought inside our grand romantic
             Another intimacy

Opens—ruthless and indecent, consuming
                           All our hiddenmosts.
              In a body, immodest

Such hunger we sometimes call tumor;
                           In a marriage
               It’s cherish. From the Latin for cost.


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