When a man can eat
no fat, and a woman,
no lean, we have what is called
marriage, that tumbling together
of opposites, that X and Y
at loving loggerheads. Jack
was sure, if he tried long enough,
his wife would come to love
his sparse servings of rapport,
no glistening fat to rind
his words. She, as certain
she’d win him over to excess,
the glut and grind of feminine advice
and insight. What we would give,
all of us, for a balanced platter
of years to relish and lick clean.