A Love Poem (they’ll never make into a song)

Love is

Finding out a moment too late, that he’s used the last of the

toilet paper.

Listening to her talk endlessly about just how wonderful her ex was
in bed.

Digging his dirty underwear out from under the bed.

Placating her mother with promises of finding a more steady job

than writing.

Somehow managing not to strangle each other.

And love means

Saying you’re sorry over and over even when you’re sure it was

her fault.

Holding him through his crying jags in the middle of the night;

ignoring them in the morning.

Not mentioning the ten pounds she’s gained in the last month.

Not laughing when he poses naked in front of the mirror.

Staying together, even when you’re not sure why.


M.A. Mohanraj

November 8, 1992