The wives of the poets,
they never complain.
They know they are married
to drama and pain.
They know they are married
to more than their man.
They know there are others—
young lovers he can
fend off from the marriage
that keeps him afloat,
for rail as they may,
he won't rock that boat.
She won't read the poems
he's written for her;
the poems for lovers
will cause no great stir.
He knows she won't read them,
because her concern
is life (and not words)
but both feel the burn
of the daggers they throw,
the sharp looks that show
the rot in the lives
of poets, and wives.
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