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A Good Man
by Bruce W NiedtA ghost in his own house,
he passed through and around her.
Mornings, he would wake to her heels
on ceramic tile, clopping off to the office
without goodbye, even the peck on the cheek
a memory, an afterimage behind the eyes.
Cubicled, day in and out, he made a good living,
joyless, like the paper they used to print his check.
She called him a good man, and it stuck
like a brooch on her business suit.
He was the compass, the checkpoint where
she always returned, orienteering through life.
But he began to fade and peel
like the wallpaper in their dining room.
He held up the foundation the best he could,
till he became translucent, then transparent
as the water that seeped into the basement.
She would slosh through with directives,
and he would comply, always avoiding the argument,
dodging knives at the bulls-eye.
But he deserted this carnival for two,
leaving nothing behind but sawdust and smoke.
Now, he lies in the arms of his lover,
solid, pink, pinched, and real.
04/23/2003 Author's Note: Just musing on how "good" marriages go bad - don't worry, all's well at home! d:-)
Posted on 04/23/2003
Copyright © 2025 Bruce W Niedt
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Anne Engelen on 04/25/03 at 05:26 PM poignantly vivid indeed! |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 04/27/03 at 07:00 PM A tragedy at best you've so well described. Marriage takes effort is the clear message. It is tragic on the level of a broken home and also on the affects on both husband and wife. I have to ask, "How long will he feel "real"? |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 04/28/03 at 01:50 AM Quite original in its descriptiveness of exploring said topic Bruce. Especially like the closing two cuplets. |
| Posted by Alex Smyth on 05/10/03 at 05:06 PM Very descriptive and sobering. Not very often do we see a mans view during the deterioration stage. |
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