A work of poetic fiction 

*

He said that he was broken

She told him she was broke

Neither took much notice

When the other person spoke

Far too bl**dy much in love

To weigh the implications

Not much need to forecast then

Future complications

She rationalised the broken thing

He thought that she would change

He thought she would make money

She thought he’d be less strange

You’re not broken, love, she said

And chose a metaphor

You function on most channels

Just not on Radio 4

She’s pretty good in bed, he thought

She’s bright and going far

Shame she’s getting on a bit

And hasn’t got a car

The years went by so quickly

She watched him getting odd

Sometimes he was wonderful

Sometimes a total sod

She had to use a dictionary

To study mental health

He watched with disappointment

Her indifference to wealth

I told you so, he said, and she

Said she had told him too

And both of them remembered

What they had forgot they knew

He really was an odd one

And she didn’t have a dime

And nowt would ever change those things

Not age nor luck nor time

There’s nothing here for me, he thought

Her interest rate is falling

She’s still in social housing

And her prospects are appalling

Love moves mountains, so she thought

I love him sane or mad

She thought that he still loved her too

She really had it bad

In the final conversation

They reviewed the words they’d spoken

How she had told him she was broke

And he said he was broken

I still love you so, she said

He shrugged, his eyes grew dim

With all the faith she had in love

She said these words to him

Take me, love, or leave me

For I always shall be poor…

At that the b*gger got his coat

And walked right out the door

*

by Gail