which meant what, exactly? Perhaps he'd never loved
anyone less, either. He could not help
lying—to make people feel better.
Yet he made everyone feel worse
with his young-old-man's grimness, and sagging mouth.
He laughed inanely,
wore ties he liked to call "dangerous,"
endangering his thin neck.
He'd say, You make me so very happy,
with such mournful and tear-stained
eyes, she prayed she never would see him sad.
After making love he'd sob, then pretend
he'd only lost his breath. Be safe, won't you?
I won't, she said. I'll run with scissors in my hands,
I'll go outside with a wet head. He never got the jokes.
She too was melancholy.
He seemed to think they should nail up public notices of guilt.
He didn't want to disappoint his mother, or his friends
or his first girlfriend, who was the only woman
who had agreed to marry him. He'd begged her
to love him, so she had left her old life
of misery behind, and began a brand-new one with him,
which they perfected over time. She'd bought him
a lovely onyx and silver ring
which he wore even when he was furious
—which is to say
he never took it off
even when galloping over her.
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