Remember how you’d mock him
tell us his weaknesses, laugh about him.
Remember how you voiced your petty irritations
in every letter or conversation?
He would never utter a word against you,
as you wore him down, year after year.
Water on stone. Cutting through bedrock.
And now she writes constant words of joy in him,
gushes over him like a waterfall,
and he pools around her with pleasure.
It’s a relief to see his happiness, someone appreciating him.
I watch and wonder whether you wish you’d chosen
better words, or whether you savour being alone?
I could have written this about so many people I know or know of. It’s such a common pattern. One sows seeds of one’s own destruction.