Hmm, at first I thought she must be kidding. Her tongue must be firmly planted in her cheek! This otherwise (apparently) self-sufficient woman—wife to one, mother of many, mistress of repartee and fearless actress, cannot possibly write such airy words of despair, sincerely! But then, there it was, another message of despondency and jealousy, and, yes, it’s true, YET ANOTHER! Well, what is a man of heartfelt sensitivity to do but write a simple—though inadequate—ode to this dear broken woman.
And so this man of heartfelt sensitivity wrote …
An Ode to This Dear Broken Woman
How sad! This poor life-weary soul lives not,
lest she lives with him in her life!
How delicate and tenuous is the thread of life
that binds her to his alleged strength and meaning,
to all things good and whole in which she seeks
comfort in her vacant days and sees her through
one more dark night. Despair, I ask now that you
neglect defense against this ardent wish that
somehow, some way, this dear soul will get a life!
Hmm again, for good measure. Yes, my tongue is firmly planted in my cheek.