Variations on a Ballade

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Last night, I couldn't sleep a wink--

reaction to your call

      that she was over with the drink,

      the pizza, sons, and all

      her helplessness (the gall!)

has kept my spirit from its rest,

so that today, I walk the hall

and wish 'twere I who'd been your guest.

 

Why do I worry so, you ask.

"I've told you you're the one.

You think my protestations mask

     some silly, willy-nilly fun

     to keep your psyche quite undone?

     I told you I love you the best;

now of your jealousy be done,

for only you shall be my guest." 

 

(For this ballade to end up whole,

it must include another verse.

     French forms--factitious--must cajole

     both form and content into terse

     but lucid stanzas. I immerse

my jealousy in words to wrest

catharsis from a chafing curse.

Aha! 'Tis I who've been the guest.)

 

For seven years this poem's lain

unfinished in my writer's chest,

but time has exorcized the pain:

you married her--SHE'S been your guest.

 

PL - from variations, 1994