7th December 2013

Sonnet 35

Here's where the wives get dropped once  love is done,

Crying in spas caked in Dead Sea mud,

Obsessing short winter breaks in the sun,

Nipping thoughts and fears of "her" in the bud,

Didn't their shrinks say it would be like this?

Those virgin brides had nothing to compare

If matrimony's young dream went amiss,

But we know that self-help is  where we  are...

...So divorce: then admit deja vu sense

Of  him when all your old pals advocate

Getting back in the saddle to commence

A battle against self-loathing and hate.

Self-conflicted's not a good place to be:

I need to therapise you out of me.