The last man I fucked before my husband
is standing in the shampoo aisle at my local Target
when our carts collide. He’s not surprised to see me.
“I knew I would find you here,” he says
in that French accent I once found irresistible. “After all,
this is your Target.” He pronounces it like it’s some
high-end sex boutique instead of Walmart
with better commercials.
I spent three years in his bed. I brought the pussy.
He supplied the passion and the pot. He had the biggest cock
I’d seen, and if size had been the measure
of a relationship, we’d never have parted.
How do you tell your ex that he opened you up,
made you ripe for the one true love who followed?
The last man I fucked before my husband grabs my hand,
brings it to his lips. “I heard you were married?” he asks,
a flicker of hope in his eyes. I nod; he sighs.
“When I taught you how to love again,” he says.
“I thought you would love me.”
First published in The Chiron Review
Alexis Rhone Fancher is published in Best American Poetry, Rattle, Hobart, Verse Daily, Plume,
Tinderbox, Cleaver, Diode, Poetry East, Flock, Nashville Review, and elsewhere. She’s authored
five poetry collections, most recently, Junkie Wife (Moon Tide Press, 2018), and The Dead Kid
Poems (KYSO Flash Press, 2019). Her photographs are featured worldwide. A multiple Pushcart
Prize and Best of the Net nominee, Alexis is poetry editor of Cultural Weekly.