Tammy Houtz
ANONYMITY
There are two men who know
the way I sit: one
because he asked;
the other, because he is
witness to the throw
of my legs. He has no idea
why I need to sit
ankles crossed, feet up,
one hand reaching
through my legs, stretched
across the keyboard. He doesn't understand
the rhythm of the keys,
or the hunger of one
in the morning. He doesn't know
his wife.
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