We always come out of a relationship
With less than we brought in.
We come with our love
And our joy,
Not to mention our possessions,
So carefully gathered,
So hard-won.
And these he appropriates,
Helps to use up,
Wear out,
Break.

We work for him
With more dedication than
He could buy.
We cook his food,
Clean his clothes,
Raise his children,
Warm his bed
And his heart,
Nurse him,
Advise him,
Love him,
In short, give our all to him.
And he takes it all
As his due.

Then, one day
It's all over,
And we're out
On the street
With a knapsack of old clothes
And a broken heart.
Again.

So we pick up the pieces,
Start again.
Gather a few things,
And try
To find our life again.

Then, just as we think
We're getting it all together -
Feeling whole again,
And seeing our way
Forward,
Along comes another man
To do it all to us again.
And we welcome him
With open arms,
Because we think we're starved
For affection -
And someone to fix the car!

When will we learn
That what we crave
Is not in a man to give?

"Bastards all! " we cry.
But , ah!
This one is different.
Not like the rest.
He wouldn't use us like that.
But cover it with
What artifice he may,
That familiar
Bar sinister
Will out,
Just when we least
Expect it.

Oh! but little does he know
The gift he gives us,
Unaware.
For slowly,
Painfully,
We gain through his bastardry
A little armour against
Others of his kind.
We won't be caught again
With our pants down.

Will we?
 

© 1994, Carmel Pacey Digby

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