Saturday, October 16, 2010

Poem #29

with your history
of throwing games
of miniature golf
with the intention
of making me more confident
in my ability
to hold my own
with you, I sometimes wonder
whether you have chosen
to surrender anything
of your identity
to try
to make yourself fit
into some notion
of what you think I am looking for.
I hope not.

On our first vacation together [when Beth was my boss; long before I had any idea that we would end up together romantically and long after she claims to have known that we would marry], we went miniature golfing. I got terribly upset at discovering that she wasn't competing to the best of her ability and was, instead, playing intentionally ineptly. This was some silly misguided ploy of hers. Something to do with believing that men can't be comfortable with losing in sporting competition to women. She wanted my ego to come away unbruised, as I understand it. Ridiculous!

No comments:

Post a Comment