Marriage is not about you and I.
We were rich before we were poor -
before the stigma of a white picket fence,
a squalling babe at my breast and a 401K.

We were free.

You would act the Robin Hood and
I the Maid Marian, laughing through
Sherwood Forest; the gold slipping
between our fingers as we made love
carelessly beneath the trees.

But you are no hero, and I am no maid.
The mornings hold no stories as we rise
from our bed to start the coffee, make the
breakfast, pack the children off to school
and let Nottingham sleep.

04/25/2010

Posted on 04/26/2010
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