Tuesday, 3 January 2017
Poetry 2017 001
In the midst of indignation
she finds regret for the man he might have been
if she'd stayed with him.
One more day might have made a difference;
he might have stopped drinking, drugging;
stopped picking fights
stopped assuming he always knew better than she did
when she was the one with the education,
the GCSEs and the determination
to put herself through college with no help
from a father more absent in alcohol
than her mother ever was having died.
At least she could talk to a grave.
Her exes spout vitriol when all they need
is an ounce of contrition;
a “sorry I was such a dick to you”
or a recognition that they'll try to do better
to treat the person who loves them
with a little more consideration
than they treated you
but nine times out of eleven
they think the problem was all her
and she was “probably a lesbian, anyway”
but she has news for him: she isn't
although she's pretty sure there must be a name
for someone who falls in love with misogynists.
In the midst of regret for the man he might have been
she finds hope in the man he might be;
the faithful husband, the doting father,
the considerate lover or the confident socialite
but the quickie in the disabled toilet
where he leaves her unsatisfied and more then grateful
she had her own condoms handy
convinces her he's still an asshole and besides,
he got stains on her bridesmaid's dress.