Misgivings

William Matthews

"Perhaps you'll tire of me," muses

my love although she's like a great city

to me, or a park that finds new

ways to wear each flounce of light

and investiture of weather.

Soil doesn't tire of rain, I think,

but I know what she fears: plans warp,

planes explode, topsoil gets peeled away

by floods. And worse than what we can't

control is what we could: those drab,

scuttled marriages we shed so

gratefully may augur we're on our own

for good reasons. "Hi, honey," chirps Dread

when I come through the door, "you're home."

Experience is a great teacher

of the value of experience,

its claustrophobic prudence,

its gloomy name-the-disasters-

in-advance charisma. Listen,

my wary one, it's far too late

to unlove each other. Instead let's cook

something elaborate and not

invite anyone to share it but eat it

all up very very slowly.