We were once the torrid lovers,
Don’t get me wrong:
Slobbering kissses the afternoon long;
And nightly penetrating like shovels.
But soon enough, too soo enough,
Entered the scourge of alcohol between her lips,
Floating fat and curling cheese around her once-shapely hips.
My reaction was astoundment, and my heart pounded rough.
Tonight with alprazolam coursing through her passed-out form,
I sit & curse my fate;
For I will not don the weight
Of those stupifying pills as any norm.
You see, with me, it all terminated at Kent State, back in ’72 or ’73;
When we lost our longsuffering position;
The rifles came and shot dead several along with me;
Clearly we had lost our situation.
But my wife’s 700 million braindead cells.
All alcohol related,
Turned her into a fuming gel,
That only remains abated.
These newfangled drugs I think do even worse harms;
These newfangled pharmaceuticals boom onto her vacated brain;
Where there was a glimmer of hope has faded again.
I want to send out signal, issue alarms.
But no one believes that such a normal-seeming spouse
Can be engaged in such a zone of harpy-dropping terror;
That any marriage can have its strife,
Without this unseen force bottled on the floor.
You can read more about the Poet Stan Petrovich on Poemhunter.com