For poetry potluck at Jingles
We have no Valentines
We are nobody’s sweethearts.
Cooking ranges and dishwashers, yes
Comforters and incubators.
We are the furniture and brooms
The curtains that wipe runny noses, stray tears,
duped for generations, cajoled
into believing we were partners.
“You are my world”-said he.
My apple pie, a bundle of surprise,
for he had married a girl and uncovered
a multi-tasking, washing machine in disguise!