Makeshift

The men I’ve loved
or at least had sex with

slept in parking lots,
woodland patches,
basements owned by
another girlfriend
and her husband,

shelters run by the
Catholic Workers,
abandoned cars,
the beds of their own
pickup trucks,

distant relatives’
unfinished garages,
and countless couches
inside the homes
of well-meaning friends,

shortly before they
became ex-friends.

Such clever ways
to avoid that pesky
rental vise.

What’s wrong with
a bit of inconvenience
if it saves a few bucks?