The Seven Year Itch Poem by Makarand Paranjape

On a conference abroad he tried to have his fling;
But his date said instead, good luck in your married life.

He narrated a whole epic of subliminal motives and unconscious drives;
She said, relax, we haven't even begun to kiss.

He thought she would offer herself to be rejected by him.
How vain to think that any woman could be so self-deluding.

A lot of romance in two or three days, experience without responsibility;
Only men, not women, harbour such fantasies.

Like his wife she was spontaneous, small, and pretty;
But she was also virtuous and sent him back packing.

They spent so long sitting up, talking,
The next morning found them in separate beds, sleeping soundly.

When he joked about the harmlessness of little indiscretions;
The alarm in her eyes confirmed that she valued her chastity.

The bar remained open till 2:00 AM; there was gossip, then sex;
But he said his prayers as usual and went to bed at 10:00 PM.

His compatriot, who made it with the Italian chick, said he'd slept early;
He realized with dismay that without lying you can't even commit adultery.

She promised to write to him, but of course never did.
He had made no promises, but in revenge, wrote this poem.


[From The Serene Flame]