An Eccentric Ii Poem by Morgan Michaels

Did she ever marry? Surely you'll want to know.
Yes and no being the precise answer:
yes, to a man who died from colon cancer-
to him she proved a good and prudent wife;
but, no, it was charitable. The real love of her life

was a viscount who vanished
during a bombing mission over the continent-
or was it the Pacific? T'was him who lent
her life it's strange trajectory-
it's sad 'sic transit gloria' equity.

No, she couldn't forget her lost aviator.
Wrote, you might say, till she was blue
all the world over for a clue
to learn his whereabouts. Was he tortured?
Was he ever found? Succumb to some

lonely impulse to leave his life behind-
includied among it's jetsam, her?
she doubted it, but never could be sure.
He was the real, true love of her life.
Can one be wed to any other?

Each Thursday she served
lunch at the Center to people she called 'old':
some younger than her, if the truth be told,
age, for her, being a mere tendency to dependency.
In return she got discount tickets to shows.