At 55... Poem by RIC BASTASA

they married at a late age,
she was then 35 and he was
then 40,

a friend of hers said
that the marriage is doomed
she later died
but they offered her white flowers
to break the curse

his mother did not want her for him
she said she cannot be a good wife
she knew she had a history
of existential tonsillitis
whatever that means
he did not ask and she did not elaborate

their marriage sailed on
like Titanic, but unlike it, it did not sink
there is no boasting somehow
that this can be unsinkable
(for no one knows
what is suggested on the
lines of their palms)

then, just like rivers, and droughts
waters evaporate, rivers become ordinary dry beds
for stones

they have something to prove
their marriage must last
the lust is gone
their skins loosen
their teeth fell
their bones clang
their feet shaky

they decided that they can just be best friends for the meantime
till death tear them both apart.