Leaving cake out in the rain

is just about the most careless thing

someone can do, which is why

Donna Summer sang

“I don't think I can take it

anymore.” In my mind I picture

a three-tiered wedding cake disaster

picked at by pigeons and rolled over,

sweetened streetlights and icing melting

in the dark. Sometimes I feel

like that cake, and I don’t think

I can take it. Some people get

how long it took to make it. Meaning,

we shouldn’t put that much effort

into anything again. Except

maybe dancing. Celebration after

celebration, my parents hustled,

tried to teach me how to hustle,

the 4/4 syncopation back forward

loop spin arms wide then back in

never stuck. Too dizzying, or

probably, one of us was too drunk.

My husband couldn’t dance to save

his life. Or, he never tried. Hips like

two left feet. Sort of like our marriage,

off-step, tripping over the other.

Husband. Is that what I should call

him, that man who gave me this pain?

What’s the right name for the person

who leaves your cake out in the rain?