You can’t blame her
for noticing that you’re a shit
and wondering why
she married you or when
you’ll keel over or how
she can save up for her future

Blame yourself
for never understanding who
she is or what she wanted
you to grow into or why
socks must be picked up and
toilets seats put down and that
she needs a partner
not another child to raise.

Get it together
before she sets your stuff on
fire in the driveway with
the locks changed so you can’t
come in to get the fire extinguisher
or hug the kids goodbye
curtains drawn and phone number

About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
This entry was posted in best-laid plans, clusterfuck, family, fear, people, poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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