We have many faces
but we are all the same:
the drudges of existence,
the drones in life's great game.
My best days are behind me,
my race is nearly run.
I get up for work each morning,
its been years since its been fun.
I am wedded to a woman
whose passion has grown cold.
I have worry lines around my eyes
to remind me I am old
* * * * *
I met her on a Thursday,
The memory makes me hard:
Perhaps she was the Devil's snare,
Perhaps a gift from God.
Her perfume was alluring
Her hair brunette and long.
Her posture was inviting,
unless I read her wrong.
She'd been recently divorced
surely there's nothing wrong with that:
She had finally shed her man
and had yet to get a cat.

On my finger, a reminder,
a band of gold I saw.
to be yet another cheater
would offend me to the core.
So we chatted and had coffee
Cheek kissed in parting, nothing more.
Another battle won
in a nasty little war.