It started with a china plate.

New house, new couple, new, sparkling beige-painted walls.

‘Darling,’ she says, ‘Darling, it’d look better there.’

‘Honey,’ he says, ‘Honey, you said that last time.’

Bits of furniture, knick-knacks and gewgaws peeking from cardboard boxes,

There’s so much left to unpack.

‘Baby,’ she says, ‘baby, just trust me.’

Sweat rolls, weary fingers toll, how can a woman know?

There’s a beer chilling in the fridge, perfect for a summer day like this and he tells her that.

‘It’s always the same!’ she cries. ‘Always! Always! Always!’

Spanking new bride’s crocodile tears.

‘Oh, fuck off!’ he snaps.

The wedding’s dream of rose-and-silver mists smashes,

Like a china plate falling to the floor.

‘That was my mother’s!’ he howls.

‘Screw your mother!’ she screams. ‘Screw your mother and her mother and her mother!’

And weeping, slams the bedroom door shut.

He nurses a beer in the kitchen’s refuge,

She broods in bed lost amidst a litany of magazines.

There’s a gilt-framed photo of a happy couple in the kitchen.

The honeymoon’s airport tags still stick to the suitcases.

Life isn’t perfect, not a rose-colored bliss.

Old words from an old doggerel.

Perhaps that’s why they ring true.

‘Sweetheart,’ she whispers, tiptoeing to the kitchen. ‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry.’

‘Love,’ he says. ‘Love, I think I am too.’

A/N: My first – yes truly – attempt ever at poetry. I’ve been influenced by Wole Soyinka’s style. So blast my amateurish (to put it mildly) attempt with your criticism…