I used to qualify my history
by stating, with a grin, the numbered years
I’d earned of marital recovery,
enjoying comprehension from my peers.
But now I know how much I thought was jest
was actually a clue to plumb the truth.
I tolerate a lonesome life the best,
abhorring love’s frustration since my youth.

I honor friction, and I value stress,
but daily irritations make me craze.
It’s been a quarter century and, yes:
I suffer rash eruptions from those days.
Sometimes I want a friend – I take a chance,
but irritation swiftly swamps romance.