William Ruleman

A LOVE LIKE OURS

So many now are living alone,
I can't help thinking we too often set
our standards too high for those we have tried
to live with a while (or hoped that we might)
till we or they committed sins

for which we or they can never atone
and leave one or both forever in debt.
How was it, we ask, that our own love died
soon after, it seems, that first major fight
over having to buy the Mercedes-Benz?

Your taunts sliced clean to the bone.
We truly had no money to get
such a sinfully expensive car. We'd lied
to ourselves about it, said that we might
afford it like most of our friends.

In the street lamps' glow, the sable babe shone.
Whenever I saw it, my eyes would get wet.
It was lovelier to me than you, though I shied
away from admitting such a thought, out of fright.
I'd sit down and study the stock market trends,

then fill out a form for another loan,
this time for clothes, so I'd be set
to go out and get the job that I'd tried
to get without wheels and duds . . . Late at night,
you'd confront me sometimes. "Anybody who lends

to people like us . . ." You'd start to moan.
"Don't start on Jack," I'd say. "I'll bet
I find something tomorrow. Aren't you satisfied?"
I'd point to the babe. She seemed so right.
I'd always thought a good woman bends,

but the babe had calcified you, you stone.
Soon I was looking for a room to let.
When I moved out my things, you cried and cried.
By then, though, we both had "seen the light"
and knew that neither could make amends.

We're solo now, though we sometimes phone.
I'm thinking of maybe buying a pet.
We sold the car--to some dude who looked fried.
With some of the cash, I went out and got tight.
What else can one do when a love like ours ends?

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