Omlette

A poem about marriage…

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

We were fighting the day we got the house,

and the day we died in it.

There was no excuse.

We knew all about triggers

and the tricksy unconscious mind.

We’d even attended seminars,

fascinating,

but useless in the moment.

All the little moments,

when simple calm was riven,

inestimable mundanity

gone wholly to the dogs.

And so quickly!

The way a molten omelette

turns to rubber in a blink.

No, there was no excuse really,

just humanness.

Together we clung to that.