The Cockney Wife

Nobody I know – honestly…


Always the same strife
like a knife through butter.
That cut, her tongue makes,
in my often lacerate soul.

My God,it’s not pain.
It’s the sameness.
Things best left unsaid;
opting for harmony instead.

And yet I respond in kind,
mindful of her brittle values.
I’ll use any subterfuge
to outmanoeuvre spite.

Night brings a well-worn armistice.
The sorry statement, made up.
Descending apathy, slipping on lip service
Cold comfort in a warm embrace.

© franciman 2020
Views: 1740
critique and comments welcome.
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TheRecluse

Fine poetry Jim, many live like this, even thriving on a balance of love and hate, keeping both emotions below the threshhold of explosion. It’s how we deal with unchangeable annoying traits while keeping the peace! You are a master of brevity and relevance, getting to the guts of things. Much enjoyed! I would have nominated, if not beaten to it!
Trevor

Mikeverdi

You at your poetic best, well worth all the plaudits.
Mike

 <span title="Experienced Commenter" style="font-size : small; color: orange;">**</span><p>

Nice subtle and occasional rhyming.

Perhaps needs the word “trouble” in there somewhere as well?…

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