It was one of those fussy, fuzzy little epiphanies;
She’d noticed, a little surprised and nonplussed,
That her wedding ring sat on the window sill above the sink,
Its removal necessitated to scrub the assemblage
Of dishes and silverware facing her,
The act certainly of no particular significance in itself
Simple unconscious mechanics,
Like tying a shoe or a quick goodnight peck,
But a thing at one time unthinkable,
Akin to betrayal and other sorts of unimaginable treachery,
Involving the breaking of solemn covenants
Of undying affection and fealty
(Though such vows rendered impotent
By their very nature, their utter lack of recognition
Of life’s winds and wuthering)
When love was a thing close kin to sheer madness,
Hurtling onward without heed to caution or stoplight
(But such emotion also prone to falsehood,
A three-alarm call with mutual aid to boot,
All for some overwrought trash barrel or barbecue)
And she was stirred from such reverie
By his appearance in the kitchen with a late arrival of glassware
Proffered with a bit of a wan smile,
Which she accepted as sufficient apology,
Taking a moment to push the ring a bit more toward safety,
Away from the minor maelstrom of water
Rushing unheedingly into the drain.