ENDURED

She doesn’t like it now,
didn’t like it then,
she doesn’t like it now
any more than she did then.
Being romanced by me,
brought flowers, wined and dined,
receiving my paltry pathetic love notes
and poems, sentimental letters
and sweet emails and phone calls,
has never been something she has looked
forward to, appreciated or anticipated
with glee. All of it has only been
endured by her in order to
survive being with me,
like Eskimos endure the frigid cold.

© 2008 Michael Estabrook