Happy Marriage Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

For fifty-seven years
she had believed,
with all her heart,
a zillion fibres of
her wholesome being,
that it was love.

She never doubted once
that it was genuine
and utterly eternal.

But when she did return
('twas meant to be a little token) ,
that Friday on the early train,
and tip-toed up the stairs,
avoiding creaks on four and seven,

the word 'Surprise' stuck in her throat,
when in spread-eagled missionary style
her love of life was at it with a vengeance,
and grunts of wild élan and satisfaction.

She went, still dazed out to the kitchen
and quickly brewed a scalding cup of java,
deciding there and then that it had been,
nothing but common pity.