(compulsive)

Raining.
The cat sits
at the French door
befuddled.
He cannot get
rain.
He’s a compulsive
kind of guy,
who once he has
his head set
can’t change it.
“This is when
I go out,
what’s going on
here.”
He does the
same about
the bed
when I close
the door
to keep him
out.
He turns &
goes back
again & again
as though
perhaps
he was mistaken
in what he saw.
As though it
might have
changed
in those few
feet since
he walked away.
He cannot adapt
once the decision
is made.
My husband
is much
the same.
I always say
I have to hope
he gets it right
the first time
because he will
never change.
Adaptation
is everything.
I do it to a fault. I change & change
& change again.
And never learn
that that is
not the answer.
If only we could
average ourselves
out,
add it up &
divide by two
we wouldn’t be
half bad.
But marriage
doesn’t really
work like that
although we
think it will,
wish it would.
Instead we only
breed a compounding
aggravation.
If it is raining
& he can’t get
on the bed
the cat goes
for my desk.
Leaving his
dirty paw prints
on my papers,
drinking from
my husband’s
water glass,
which he always
leaves on
my desk.

3/8/00