Prior to our divorce, the echo chamber,
a blazed path of scorched earth where a mistletoe once grew;
I will admit, my mate was a sheep in wolf's clothing and I the opposite, an inside out porcupine.
We use to joke about it over a couple glasses of wine,
until our second therapy session, the grapes smelled sullen
and the joke was pronounced dead on arrival.  

I am one to never quit: a job, a duty, yet the car was totaled,
having just installed our toddler's seat, my hand was forced.
Holidays apart, a decade of predetermined calendars,
"every others", now omnipresent words
scrolled into our patchwork speech patterns.

It was a Thursday morning, extra early, for me at least,
when I discovered my wife's "extramarital affair".
Something the lawyers like to call it, doesn't soften the blow though,
it's not like say, taking steroids, counting cards or
drinking vinegar to pass a **** test.

Merely thinking back renders my breath useless, vision impaired,
while that car wrecks at the same high speed as my heart thumps.
Allstate, just write the entire ******* check out to cash, I'm bare,
this fate was All my fault; apparently I lost her along the way.

Easier to do nowadays with what, say everything nowadays.
Haven't gotten to the part where I,
"allegedly attempted assault", on her new lover.
I must wait for two inks to dry before divulging that burnt dirt:
one on our old divorce decree, but more importantly,
the other on her new marriage license.
FIN to be CONTINUED.