'Caught in the Act' Sestina

‘Caught in the Act’ Sestina

To face

the shame of having been caught red-handed,

cheating on your best friend’s fiancée

or even stealing a Butterfinger,

must feel like a shit-ton of bricks

balanced on your chest—a weight

impossible to ignore.  Wait

‘til your breathing starts to flutter and your face

turns a grey-blue—the color of mortar between bricks.

Do you confess?  Own up to what you’ve had a hand

in committing? Or do your butterfingers

loosen the grip on Nancy, your best friend’s fiancée?

That you just found out your best friend had a fiancée—

that you were just waiting

to congratulate you two and make sure to butter your fingers

if the rings don’t fit.  Your face

and Nancy’s bare hand

say it all, though.  The bricks

are starting to crack—the same bricks

of the house your best friend and his fiancée

made an offer on.  The same house you were caught red-handed,

not even weighing

the consequences of brushing Nancy’s face

with your crippling, butter fingers.

But her finger

showed no sign, no brick

of gold, and her face

looked nothing like your best friend’s fiancée.

The weight

of the air the vaulted ceilings enclosed, and the way her hand

was as barren as the Mojave desert, and just as cracked—a red hand

resting over the heart of the country, with crooked fingers

to butter you up.  How you couldn’t wait

to hit the hay like a stack of bricks,

or someday become someone’s fiancé.

But now, somehow you try to save face,

to shift the weight of the bricks

onto your shoulders, and cross your fingers that your best friend’s fiancée

has a helping hand as you wear the shame across your face.