POEM: Six men I did not marry

A poem for the best and worst of them, April 20th 2025

Six men I did not marry:

1) the multiphonic bearded poet - wrestling
pencil-chewed meaning in yellow-pad letters,
muscled calves pacing looping maps of home.

we loved hard, bound tight, resisted all
calls of future rupture and tearing growth -
pretended not to notice street-signs change.

he loved when my words surprised him,
remembered him back to the world - loved
so hard it stopped me writing completely.

2) the lawyer hound who huffed my loss,
chased rancid echoes of his mother's kitchen,
greasy glistening small-cocked dog, swelling

arousal and love of the hunt, waiting - trained -
pacing the graveyard of his dead father’s violence -
barking wet dreams of his meat up the tree.

he did not love me. I was young enough, then
to think not loving back was protection.

3) the wool-suited scientist, slim frame
grinding his grandfather's cloth into carpet,
hiding the bed he’d made of his office floor.

he danced spasmodic, sly-gamed structure,
delightedly noticed the girl who laughed back.

he loved my softness, sharp contrasts: pebble-
bombed jokes into pools of esteemed company.

4) the reluctant doctor, duty-bound to love
his sisters, his mother, his father's mission -
penning histories of homeland. he hated wind;

laced filthy humour and closed-eyed fucking;
tucked his beauty in the margins of achievement.

he once said 'I adore you' so prettily
I stole his words to give to others; sorry.

5) the story warlock, the hollow man merging
hand-magic, mirror-work, alchemy, black-eyed
misdirection. desire as spell-work, all invocation:

bridges breaking to touch Thames sky - sunset
cliff-edged swerves - raving abandon - raw, streaking
Perseids watching him shame me to tend him harder.

he loved me in the words I gave him, shrapnel
seeds planting violent bloom. only just

in time I outgrew him.

6) the tender-calloused carpenter, walking
his love through thistle-fields, muddy-booted,
scaling every fence on his head-lamped path home.

he rumbled deeply; laughed easily; came loudly -
all boyish unworry for what neighbours might think.
etched devotion in wood, steel and alleyways.

he loved me best - bare-faced, bare-chested, resting
our peace on the white enamel sink I dreamed before
we lived it: richer than almost, poorer than always.