I’ve grown tired of disappointing women.
And of being disappointed in them.
I know that’s too broad a conclusion
from a very small sample.
Don’t care. I need a break,
and Corvid-19 is a convenient excuse.
I’m hiding out from another virus
of my own making,
sheltering in place and
eating frozen vegetables.
Aware this might become permanent.
I had a long life with a woman who died,
a life better than most, I think,
not as good as some.
But still, what do I have to complain about?
Younger people have their difficulties,
stemming mostly from being naively stupid,
but older men and women bring
a lot of experienced stupidity to the bed, too.
(If it ever gets that far.)
She may be nursing grievances,
tries to see you as a perfect version
of what she’d missed with the
hated ex, a dream child,
utterly committed to her–before
showing you any of the fine print.
It’s an old habit, born of fear.
None of this “live in the moment” bullshit for her!
And you cannot win this game.
Meanwhile, both of you know too well
how tenuous it all is, how unpredictable.
And you, you try to believe she’s
a sweet, innocent maiden, surrounding you like
a spring breeze, undemanding, kind,
there to guide you to new certainties.
But you find that what was amusing
when young and horny is now
just a little too frantic and brittle and afraid.
She looks in the mirror, and knows
she cannot win this game, either.
So, a pause. Which is wrong:
the reality or the expectations?
Who said age brings wisdom?
Love in the time of Corona….