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The Bitter End

Once, we were married.
Pluperfect, past tense.
Now, there was no one to clean, 
or make any sense of his disarray.
Always a glass on the floor,
so the dog could drink vodka or rye.
Why did I think this would work?
It was simply a quirk of my nature.
I was looking to change,
but didn’t know what he wanted.
So I stood at the stove stirring a pot,
adding a bit of this or that,
not knowing what was wrong. 
Attempting to sweeten the stock,
yet never becoming the woman 
he would savour.