He's dour; she's the life of the party. Can he change?
|He Said, She Said
My wife complains that I'm too dour
because, at parties, my face is sour,
and I'm not one for clever conversation.
Perhaps it's true. I couldn't tell
her that, for me, they are plain hell
and not a reason for a celebration.
I promised that I would participate
though I knew that my words would dissipate
and I'd likely revert to my old way.
That said, I didn't stand a chance
as her daily reminders, looks in askance,
told me more than any words could say.
The big day arrived. I'd be on display.
Mostly married couples, I would have to say,
and so the talk was guided by the ladies.
Not subjects that husbands knew about
like sports or fishing or even the drought
but stories from our lives. (It was pure Hades!)
I cleared my throat absent mindedly,
causing everyone to turn toward me
because I was the first man to make a noise.
You'd think, by now, I would have learned
to stand there quietly and nod in turn,
and smile politely like the other boys.
No... I recounted the tale of our first date,
how it must have been the hand of fate
that brought us to this state of married bliss.
It was a fancy dinner as I recall.
"No, it was a movie at the Mall,"
she whispered to me with a warning hiss.
I remember things went well that night.
We argued and we had a fight.
You didn't even get a goodnight kiss!
Well, I told my tale quite happily
and she kept on correcting me
as all my memories were dismembered.
But all in all, I did quite well.
I kept the audience under my spell.
Luckily, it all happened as I remembered.
An entry for the April round of "The Humorous Poetry Contest"
Form: Tercets with an aab ccb rhyme
Line Count: 39
askance ~ with suspicion, mistrust, or disapproval