Poems by Terry Stephen Driscoll

I guess it’s all over. Our marriage has failed.
I’m sorry I’m not what you thought you had nailed.
No need to get dirty in times of divorce,
You say you want everything; Baby! Of course!

You take the house, the car, and the cat
The paintings, the silver, our West London flat
The jewellery, the dinner set, all of the chairs,
the bookcase, the curtains, the French earthenware.

I’ll have the memories, the feelings, the thoughts,
Of days when we’d smile at each other’s retorts.
When words from the heart could tie up the tongue,
And ballads of blue need never be sung.

Go on, go ahead, help yourself, be my guest,
To the silicon implants that hold up your chest.
To the wardrobe of labels of last season’s taste,
The cool diamante, the pearls, and the paste.

I’ll keep the gallery that fills up my head,
‘The picture,’ ‘The Princess,’ the day we were wed.
I’ll relish reminders as I reminisce
The resonant warmth of a once loving kiss.

Keep all the credit cards, take all the cash,
Add it to what you have probably stashed.
The business is yours and all of the shares.
Those hard sweating years, but why should you care.

Imagine the happiness all this can bring,
A ‘material girl’ with material things.
Possessions are allies of simplicity.
For what is true wealth remains within me.