Because of You

I asked him

why he had lied

and not shared anything

about his sleazy tryst

with the secret little miss

from his office.

“I never could,”

he replied.

“I don’t share

my things

with you.”

Perhaps by things

he meant this—

his lips were on hers,

their legs tangled tight.

Fuelled by Viagra,

they made out all night.

What else was there

he could not share—

his gels and potions,

his skincare lotions?

He couldn’t simply say,

“I was bored.

I wanted

someone new.”

Instead, he accused me—

my temper,

my questions,

my suspicious view.

He wagged his finger at me.

His nostrils flared,

his eyes glared,

his jaw clenched.

“You!” he roared.

“You’re an old hag.

All you ever do

is nag, nag, nag.

It is all

because of you.”

“And that,” he said,

“is the reason

I could never share

anything with you.”