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My Future Ex
At first I thought we could do it
Without recrimination, without rancor.
I showered, dressed, and prepared
Breakfast a little earlier than usual:
Boiled the water, warmed the pot,
And brewed the tea, just as he liked it
Strong -- a little milk, a little sugar--
In a thin china cup bought at a street market.
I opened a new pot of jam, a new tub of butter,
Set the table and waited, glancing
At the headlines, folding the paper,
Setting it next to his napkin.
He rushed downstairs, tie dangling:
'What's all this? Communion breakfast?'
'Take a minute. Sit down, eat something.'
'No time. Gotta hurry. Gotta go.'
'Make time, a few minutes, really important!'
He looked hard, sat, reached for the paper.
'Allan, I'm in love. Maurice. We didn't mean ...'
'How long?' 'Months.' 'Months?' 'Months.'
He ran out, flinging his tie on the lawn.
The car sped away, and that was it.
I haven't seen him since, nor spoken
Except through lawyers, now mainly
About the dogs, Fanny and Jackie.
We share joint custody, he has one
For a week, I the other; then they
Change places. When I travel he has both.
I write them postcards, pictures of places
Dogs would like, forest paths, open fields,
City streets with lots of lamp posts.
At first they didn't reply. Now they do.
They began awkwardly in dog-like barks
And growls, then their tone lightened:
They became more playful, whimsical,
Even clever, less serious than they had
Ever been. Their scrawl is improving.
I recognize Allan's hand!
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