If I am a worm,
with whom was I supposed to fall in love?

The writer?

The teacher?

The fieldhand?

The addict?

My husband?

Did you count on my longtime sweetheart?

On my resilience?

On my grit?

On my wit?

What was your plan?

Or was your plan merely to entrap?

To entertain yourself,

wondering which I would choose
in the end?

To understand your manipulations
is beyond my grasp.

All of my understanding has come through

schematic connections of reasoning.

I have no connections of your reasoning,

though I've recognized your actions.

The menu choices you offered,
all interesting, desirable in his own way,
were contrived.

The very planning spoiled the pudding.

You see, even before you knew that I knew,
I was already miles ahead of you.

Your wedding day gal smelled rodentious.

Tools are not your style.
My husband has enough tools
to set up shop.

You are still up to something.

There is something I have that you want.

Though I would wish for higher,
you probably still somehow have
deluded yourself
that you can make me submit
and you win.

Keep dreamin'. ;-)