I must admit that,

at the end of the movie,

my eyes moistened

behind my glasses.

I didn’t want my wife to see.

So I surreptitiously

made out to scratch my chin

while, at the same time,

nudged my fingers a little higher

so that they wiped away

as much of the tears as they could.

I risked a glimpse in her direction

and figured her eyes must

have been watching a different film

because they were as dry

as the Kalahari.

She said she saw the film

as manipulative.

But, then again, I love poetry.

I appreciate a good manipulation.