passing ships
his work hours and meetings
my early bed
© Rachel Green August 2025
For twenty-five years we've been together
and a dozen lovers we both have loved
troubles between us are shed like feathers
upon the grooming pulled and shoved.
Dismayed by lack of interest in my work
(except by those who loved me anyway)
I asked him, with my thoughts enmired by murk,
to destroy unsold art, unpublished words after I die.
"But why?" he asked, "when History might rue
the day I labour to fulfil your last request of life?"
I said: "I want no other asshole having access to,"
my stuff when you find yourself a fresher wife."
"But love," he says, with smile reserved for psycho clients,
"why would I take a second asshole with such defiance?"
© Rachel Green August 2025
No comments:
Post a Comment