The Maynard
Spring 2016

Paul Douglas McNeill II

Constantly Looking, Admitting Nothing

I look over at my wife as she walks into the room.
She’s wearing her worn-out, faded, striped tights
—and nothing else.
She looks down at her gut,
then back at me.
“What are you looking at?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just lookin’ at you.”
She looks me up and down,
pausing briefly
—in the middle.
“What are you looking at?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “Just you.”
Is this marriage?
I wonder.
Two people.
Constantly looking.
Admitting nothing.