My Imaginary Husband As A Banker

Husband, I vouchsafe to you
                            my hundred odd obsessions;
               in return I let you barter

your old stories three,
                            four times.
               I send you out for garbage bags

and you return with dish soap.
                            Home from a trip,
               your briefcase

explodes its yellowed quotes
                            across our bedroom floor.
               Each night, your stocks accrue

a deep and dreamless sleep
                            spooning next to my bonds.
               In our economy

of quirks and secrets,
                            habits and rituals,
               it seems an even exchange.