They go to the pub
and say more words ordering drinks
than to each other.
They wield empty threats
like light sabres
about moving home with mother.
They promised to build a new life
but are content
to live in rubble
He rarely buys her flowers and
only then from garages
if he’s in trouble.
They gave up giving cards on birthdays
because they couldn’t
read each other’s scrawl.
When asked what they have in common
they both say
“Alcohol”.
They both cast admiring glances
at singletons when they think
the coast is clear.
And long ago let love subside,
replaced with equal parts
apathy and fear.
May we never be
one of those couples
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