He gently rubbed my foot
As the ache from the stiletto began to subside.
He served me mimosas by the swimming pool
A bowl of black cherries sat tempting me, nearby.
I imagined him an old man, in the future
Would he still be willing to answer every call.
Would he have feet of clay or would he rather stay
To perform my every whim through Spring or Fall.
He’s been a mite restrained, not fully embedded in his role.
He’s not at peace with this role-reversal that I chose.
One day I’m sure that he may flip a coin.
Will he remain a puppet or choose to become another’s toy?
Diva’s Loving Leadership (c) 2016