Caribbean Thoughts

by Carol Mitchell

A little ditty for three

I knew it would end, you see
one night; this triangle of he, me, she
wasn’t right, it could never be.
A terrible plight, but love doesn’t work with three.

I planned it would be ended by me
on my terms; Not so that he
would squirm, ache, cry, plea
and yearn, begging to return to three.

But so I would leave with me,
whole; He’d have she and she-he
to hold; And I would be
okay, all told, okay with just me.

But he chose her over me
first; Let all I thought was we
burst; without a word, decree
or curse, he broke the triangle of three …

and in doing so, almost broke me.

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