Loss of Services

It's called Enticement.
Not some perfume, or a floppy-covered novel.
Look it up in the OED
for bodice-ripping synonyms,
reined in
by a board of professors

but look it up
in the legal model
for extinct lawsuit grounds.
Picture this: she leaves, or you catch her
in the act of leaving, whirl around
and there he is. And sometimes
there's no shuriken shower, no curseword
that can replicate the gutpunch
the two of them, scarved, cases packed
or convict shuffling, pants round ankles,
have dealt you.

And so, like the advert woman
slipping on an unflagged spill,
cracking her knee, flashing
pink cotton smalls, you set to work
assembling the law gun.
You sue him for Enticement,
the triple cherry point of which,
if provable, is not
psychological trauma, the cost of dry-cleaning
the sheets they used, which, though spotless
are jizzed on and jizzed on in your dreams,
no. You sue for loss of services,
though the main line
has been down for years, settled on
by crows.