Innocence

I knew he wanted to test me by leaving

his wallet in his pocket where I could

see it, reach for it, take the money in it,

knew he wasn’t spending so long showering

for no reason, singing children’s ballads

I had never heard on his mouth,

knew that when, minutes ago, stroking

my oily cheeks on his chest, he told stories

of his many friends who had been robbed

of their wallets by their younger lovers

he was somehow relating it to me,

even if unconsciously. I knew that

when, walking out of the bathroom, droplets

of water on his gray hair and his broad shoulders,

he said that I was a good one he meant

that he had met his wallet in its right place,

that when he said he would gladly cover

some of my hospital fees, he was likely

rewarding me for my innocence.