Life is a series of choices,


uttered in half-heard voices,

seeking to sway this way or that,

at a moment's notice, in seconds flat.

Some wishes are not to be granted

by some errant genie or Santa.

They need to polished and admired,

then torn apart with mental pliers.

I made a commitment to a woman

that was supposed to last more than a moment.

But scarcely the vows were made,

than she was off in her own parade

of bills, lies, games and guesses,

while I tried to clean up her messes.

After fifteen years of trying,

she has up and gone and left me crying.

She has no reason except a sexist one,

that since I had no job I deserved no home.

If I had said that about a woman,

I'd be the low man on the totem.

I have diapered and washed and cooked,

woken and coffeed and done the books.

I have waited up nights for a partier,

and tolerated the noises of a fartier.

I have held and helped a family together,

through sickness and other stuff that we weather.

But it in the end, it all comes down to one ego,

so here I sit while they go.