Middle-aged Manfred wanted a woman to help him
make sense of all those dead ends in his past.
He had hoped that a woman like Marigold would
hold his head so tight against her bosom that:
The silence of the Unplanned and the Unwanted;
The stench of the Down-sized and the Displaced;
The sagging weight of one's Waning Years; and
The taste of cold Ash Heaps might be erased
From that imagined place in hard memory
where the Wayward weld themselves together;
Where fragments of Dreams are fused; and
where the ritual Mating Dance begins anew.
"In accordance with the Laws of Quiet Desparation
and by authority of the Church of Vain Hopes,
I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Codependency.
Manfred? You may now kiss the Bride, ... Manfred?"
Numb fingers pressed
tightly against the ears
eyes turned away.
Why do we assume
the posture of the fetus
in its womb?
Looking in,
I see the grin that I adore so.
It is her. (I was so sure!)
But he was more so.
Could it be
her love for me was mere illusion?
So it is. The night is his
in gay profusion.
Could it be
that destiny chose to desert me?
So it is, for she is his.
This really hurt me.
Looking in,
I see his thin and agile torso.
It is him and he is slim.
That I were more so!