He dipped deeply into the dish,
turned his hand over several times.
An even number meant he would get
the first crack, an odd number meant
She would. It was a game they played
because life seemed to be giving them
fewer and fewer choices, and even those
had become increasingly pointless,
save for the one that nagged,
Whether to live or to die, that was
always there, in the back of their minds.
Who needed who, and who could get along
just fine by himself, everybody knew.
Sometimes he liked to stay home,
Sometimes she did too, though not
as often. If it rained or snowed,
they might agree what to do,
or they might not. It was hard
to tell. They had such different ideas.
But if there was one thing they saw
eye to eye on it was the need
never to equivocate. Make a decision
and stick to it, otherwise
what’s the point?
Sure, things happen,
and you can either let them
get you down, or you can deal with them,
like the turning of the seasons.