An Eccentric Ii - Poem by Morgan Michaels
Was she ever married? Surely you'll want to know.
Yes and no being the precise answer:
yes, to a man who died of colon cancer-
to him she proved a good and prudent wife;
but, no, it was all remedial. The real love of her life
was a viscount who vanished
during a bombing mission over the continent-
or was it the Pacific? T'was him lent
her life it's strange trajectory-
it's sad 'sic transit Gloria' quality.
No, she couldn't forget her lost aviator.
Wrote, you might say, till she was blue
the world over for a clue
to his whereabouts. Was he tortured?
Was he ever, mangled, found? Succumb to some
lonely impulse to leave his life behind-
including among it's jetsam, her?
she doubted it, but never could be sure.
His was the real, the true love of her life.
Can one, at heart, be wed to any other?
Each Thursday she served
lunch at the Center to people she called 'old':
some younger than her, if the truth be told,
age, for her, being a mere tendency to dependency.
In return she got discount tickets to shows.
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