A New Mate On Our Arm
A Poem by Fred Randall ( PD 2019 )

Remembering songs that I sung
way back when just teenage,
since when I was so very young,
the times, they sure have changed.

The songs, then, were of love.
Being alone was so unfair,
and we were, like a single glove,
complete only if a pair.

Those songs influenced life
in a dramatic way
because when I had a wife
I thought that she would stay.

Implied was that our love would last
we would forever, 'til death, be one,
our marriage roles were happily cast,
life played out, scripted to be fun.

We sang, "wouldn't it be nice",
older we longed to be,
then older came, and wedding rice,
soon after, two were three.

As life progressed affection waned
then work got in the way,
commitments lost, teardrops rained,
then divorce judgement came one day.

The youthful songs had lied,
they foretold a fairy tale.
Lasting love, in reality, denied.
We weren't supposed to bail.

Now fearing endless deja vu,
a repeat of painful past,
fear hovers over me and you
as new plays are being cast.

We shy from stepping out
and loving once again
we're overcome with doubt
when selecting next of kin.

We don't want any hurt,
and not wanting any harm
before again we turn to dirt,
want a new mate on our arm.

NICE

Nice poem .