This One Relationship

“I miss you terribly.” “I don’t miss you.”
“The flowers are lovely here.” “These blooms are dead.”
“I love your body.” “Get out of my bed.”
“This car has every feature.” “It’s not new.”
“I cherish your bright hazel eyes.” “They’re blue.”
“Here’s chicken for your lunch.” “Serve fish instead.”
“My heart is full.” “But nothing’s in your head!”
“Why be so vicious?” “Haven’t got a clue.”

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone.” “I don’t think so.”
“My goodness, how we churn!” “Don’t be so funny.”
“You’ve gone too dark.” “I’m altogether sunny.”
“You’re laughing?” “Shan’t allow a smile to show.”
“No more to say, then?” “Just: before you go . . .”
“What’s your last word?” “Come here, my little bunny.”

Im Feuerstrom der Reben

She said we could get married, but no más,
So I demanded food, and right away,
Since sex was off the table for the day.
She then administered the coup de grâce
When I imbibed a little too much kvas,
While celebrating with too much foreplay:
“No, touch me here,” is what I heard her say,
“And nothing more — none of your mishigas.”

I moaned, complained, and I began to grouse
That she was mean to me. She just agreed,
And said she hoped she’d planted one small seed
Of good behaviour. “When you leave the house,
Sing the Champagne song from Die Fledermaus
And learn from that.” Since then, that is my creed.

Worthless Noise

Free of corruption, free of empty joys,
The world would not be useful, true, or sane,
Or so we’re told. And then we’re told again,
Until it’s not much more than worthless noise,
Like children making sounds for their old toys,
The ones no longer working, or too plain
To make sounds. And it goes against the grain,
This absolutism. Look for equipoise.

No joy is quite so empty as what’s true
With absolute and total certainty,
Which always makes me shudder, try to flee,
And pick fights. Worthless noise escapes from you,
Inspiring men with brains like dried-out glue,
Which, I admit, sometimes also means me.

Unencumbered by Delight

You gleefully showed me the empty nest,
And pointed down, towards the unyielding ground,
And told me that the robin made a sound
Like weeping, flowing from its bright red breast,
And also said you thought it for the best.
You criticized my feelings when I frowned,
And told me love was better all around
When unencumbered by delight, or zest.

I can’t ignore you, and I won’t embellish;
I wonder why you claimed the dead bird sings,
In spite of dying quickly. Watch its wings:
What you did here was altogether hellish.
Your decision — to embrace with relish
These tortures, these abuses — it still stings.