I can fix him she says,
He’s the love of my life.
Remember that one time,
He brought me flowers?
Or that time he wrote me a poem?
Granted it didn’t rhyme,
But it’s the thought that counts.

I can fix him she says,
As she waits for his return.
The seconds march by,
The sky changes colour,
Home-bound wings cut through the silence.
She waits for him patiently,
He’s the love of my life, remember?

I can fix him she says,
As his heavy steps grace their porch.
She runs up to the door,
A benign smile plastered on her face.
He need only raise his fist,
She opens the door with open arms,
Welcome home my love.

I can fix him she says,
As he brushes right past her.
Eyes focused on everything at once.
I toiled over the stove for hours,
Made your favourite my love.
He settles down on the couch,
A bottle cradled in his lap.

I can fix him she says,
As she marches up to her love.
Darling put that away,
It makes you frightfully ill-tempered.
Her plea seems to bounce off stone,
Recorded laughter fills the room.
An impatient horn blares through the night.

I can fix him she says,
As she snatches away his other love.
All at once there is silence,
The punch line fades into the background.
He looks up at her with his bruised eyes,
Her love for him wells up like a tide,
He could never break her heart.

I can fix him she says,
As she braces for the impact.
Lying on shards of glass,
Lodged deep in her skin as well as her heart.
He raises his fist, yet seems to falter.
She looks up at his face, her hope shining through.
A moments hesitation gives way to darkness.

I can fix him she says,
Sobbing in the corner.
Recorded laughter mingling with his snores.
To be fair he never broke my heart.
My bones perhaps,
But that’s the price of love.

I can fix him she says,
As she ignores the whispers that greet her arrival.
Layers of concealer barely doing their job.
A slight limp, the occasional wince,
Give restless house-wives hours of fodder.
He’s the love of my life, remember.

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15 thoughts on “Wishful thinker.

  1. You summed up the feedback loop here…love, violence, love, violence…. When you lift this poem–run and let it rise like a kite–into a new poem where the feedback loop breaks, there will be a prize. For you. For humanity of the world.

    Liked by 1 person

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