My Last Husband
After Robert Browning's "My Last Duchess"
This is my last husband's picture hanging on the wall
in the living room, as you can see, in a place
that covers the hole he made when he tried
to repair the electrical outlet one last time.
No, he was not an electrician, only how shall I call him?
Some would say frugal. He would take on any job
around the house and in doing so would find
his wallet less empty than if he had called a repairman.
Such stuff was clever, he thought and cause enough
for him to open a six-pack and rejoice.
Yes, there are those who would admire him.
Some officious fool would pat him on the back
as he stood there with the paint can
he would eventually spill over the front walk.
He thanked them as if they ranked higher than all
the forty years I had given him the gift of home cooked meals.
He had a voice, how shall I say? Too soon made loud.
He would yell and his yells would go everywhere.
I would say to him this is not fixed and here is the faucet
that still leaks and he let my words pile up like tools
in his tool box. I choose not to apologize for reminding him
and his smiles would turn to scowls. Soon all smiles stopped
and so there he is on the wall. I will consider your proposal
of marriage if a prenuptial signed by you encloses the term
"I promise to call the proper people to do home repairs."
Look here is the kitchen sink now completely repaired.
The insurance covered the cost of it. Doesn't it look like
it was cast in bronze for me?
