To a Spouse Angered by Something of Mine She Saw On-Line
(with an apology to Matthew Prior, in case he’s looking for one)
Sweetie, you’re making much too big of a deal
of a little “thumbs up” or a smiley face
that I left on the page of another, I feel.
Believe me, I won’t meet her in cyber-space.
Please listen–your anger is widely misplaced–
I don’t even know if her screen name’s a jest
And as for her avatar, just another pretty face
on the World Wide Web (with enormous breasts).
You shouldn’t get mad at these idle remarks
that I toss off on-line, like bread at a duck.
It’s what the kids nowadays call “snark.”
Long-term, I assure you, I don’t give a . . . hoot.
My true love I save for you only, dearie,
in poems that you read and then say “That’s nice.”
Of women on social media I am leery;
some ask for credit cards to pay their price.
Your beauty is tarnished by smoldering anger,
please restore to your visage its usual grace.
I can’t sleep on the couch if you’re making a clangour
and looking at me with that god-awful face.
This has happened before, to Matthew Prior,
who once wrote a poem that was read the wrong way.
He swore to his Chloe she was his lone desire;
he loved her at night, but he jested all day.
So let’s call a truce in this little kerfuffle,
surely it’s blown all out of proportion.
Stop with the sniffling, also the snuffles,
my heart cannot pay the high price of extortion.