Jane? -he asked- 
What about Jane?
-And he turned the way all spiders do,
More arms than rotation,
and he stared, stunned,
as if I had just taken sight of him and 
slapped him with the newspaper.
-Not my Jane.- with a cocky certainty
that only comes with practice and time,
so I smile and nod and I don’t say anything
because we both know that words 
just – get- in the- way
So I hand him the cup of coffee
and keep smiling because I’m scared
-he might snap-
and in a blink, I am pulling out a chair for him
Like a properly trained monkey
and he sits, like a dog before a treat
And the clock ticks as he plays with the pen
-
–
—
and the hours pass like a game between crickets
we are both trying to outplay the other
but he doesn’t realize that
he’s already lost. 
Or maybe he does. 
Jack always did have a good sense of adventure
but the pen keeps twirling
and the tiny beads of sweat slip down his cheek
like her tears on my jacket cuff
which are still there
-if by nothing else than principle-
and he looks up, astonished
and I wonder if he’s put it all together
and he just closes his eyes and nods
signs
and their relationship ended
with the honking of horns 
on second street.