For Want of a Wife

He’ll become no geography, float free,
unhitched, unmoored, unburdened, smartened, he’d
flee now except for the slowed-down heart stream-
lined by live affection still. He’s parried
the pain already. He needn’t rush. Rest
would be refreshing after festooning
all those yellow ribbons for so long; nests
are made for robbing, so says the cuckoo —
or was that the cuckold? Oh hell! he’ll do
now whatever he wants to do, no wart-
hog-tied marriage to stop him now. So few
go west these days. Let her go. He’ll depart
as soon as he moves out of these doldrums.
Life has to be more than this beat of humdrums.

Copyright © 2008 Barbara Schweitzer All rights reserved
from 33 1/3: Soap Opera Sonnets
Little Pear Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission