So we look alike –
a connivance by genes –
but he smiles under higher
cheekbones
He is (still) crowned
by bottle-blonde hair –
we both have enough on top
to brush aside – for now
We make such
similar guttural grunts –
as if our low voices
have just broken
But we have been
split
for so long
without knowing how
to deal with sour differences –
our slighting jealousies
and curdled
misunderstandings
It is up to wives –
and ex-wives – to try
and fix things
Spilt milk leaves a stinking stain
which is hard to lift
from trodden-in places
Perhaps our ways
will not cross again