Searching for an epiphany

In the process of trying to understand women

a man’s mind will become like one of three types of edible egg:

perhaps boiled, perhaps fried

but most likely scrambled.

—-

Thus as the relationship road curves from raunchy to rocky

and the fuel runs out at the crossroads between love and hate,

the woman calls AA. And I don’t mean the car insurance company!

—-

With my girlfriend I’ve been so up, so down, so sweet, so sour,

but never sober …

and she has had enough.

—-

The esoteric algebra of a woman’s feelings:

she’ll end up an ex if I can’t figure out why…

why it’s so important to her that the plants are watered,

the pepper pot is always full

and the toilet seat stays down.

—-

I don’t want the ice-elation of cold, lonely highs

so I’m trying to find the bottle to give up the bottle

and see things from a perspective as clear as hers,

but this unidentifiable ghost of anxiety keeps clouding my lens

and these brick wall days are so hard to get through without

drams to ease the dread that everyday could be the one

she decides to treat me like a discount store

and offer a goodbye.

—–

If I could just take a final gulp clean myself up and get a job,

I’ d be first in line to work at the factory of repentance where they make…

amends.

—-

Bit by bit I’d put apologies together as her heart

came along the conveyor belt.

Apologies for all the times my romantic words were frugal

and the nights she’d make a three course meal

and I’d come home with a Pot Noodle

and things far worse than ink can reveal

and a page can contain

but I’d do anything to make her feel

serenity, even if that entails, for me, the pain

of a commitment to sobriety;

but if she asks me to take her mother with us on holiday again

I’ll go straight back to the Buckfast!

Dasein Petals © Copyright 2013

(This poem is second in a series of my #99poems poetrython. More information is available here).

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