Gamophobia
          ~the fear of marriage

It's just that each of us is engaged already—
to Death, that great polygamist. Why take
a hand that will be taken from you, steady
or not, leaving just the anger and ache
of a lover lost to a rival? I can't compete
with that insatiable heart, which burns and burns
us all to nothing. His love is utter, complete,
the stuff of legends, impossible to spurn.
Every time we cross the street, I fear
he'll catch us holding hands. He's the jealous type.
I can see it now: we're kissing and Death appears
with a rush and crash, taking bloody swipes
as the neighbors say, Kids and their reckless hearts;
everybody knew it was doomed from the start.

Copyright © 2009 Patrick Ryan Frank All rights reserved
from Southern Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission