The Quarrel

By John Herlihy

They always had with each other an easy way,

Until some days come along with another way.

They bantered and bluffed their way thru the day,

Each of them knew what the other was going to say.

Years of living together made them closer than a friend,

To lose faith and trust would certainly harken the end.

In fact, there were days when they felt like strangers;

Complex cross-currents emerge with sinister dangers.

You think you know someone until you know you don’t;

You think you will give and take till you know you won’t.

He didn’t have the money to provide her what he should;

She longed for a new set of curtains, if only she could.

“You think it a sin to want to liven up the kitchen,” she said

“Not a sin, a law of nature,” he said. “Can’t give what I don’t have.

My Mary, if squirrels don’t have nuts, they won’t eat in winter;

If I am not careful in working the wood, I may get a splinter.

Mary reddens perplexed and angered, her anger like octopus ink.

“Can’t I have a little happiness,” she blurted, standing at the sink.

‘Happiness, sure, but not at the expense of what we don’t have.”

She was inclined to put her foot down, wanting to rant and rave;

Why does anger feel so good, she wondered, feeling the knave.

Instead, she decided to let go the venom and its sour hatefulness.

When dark clouds gather together, who will think of gratefulness

“Look! There it goes!” She suddenly said. “Did you see it vanish?

“Went right past the tree and into the yard,” her misery to banish.

What was it then, my Mary,” he said. “What was it, do pray tell.”

In the dusk, he saw her smile, that impish grin he knew so well.

Call it wisdom, but a knowing to make wisdom unnecessary,

To restore the fine balance that in any relation is necessary.

“I saw a quarrel coming on strong,” she said, “but it got away.”

He put his arm around her waist and turned her: “You don’t say.”

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(c) John Herlihy December 2018