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R was married to T for three years before Mt. Vesuvius was about to blow.
All indicators determined this to be true
and all friends wished them a satisfying break-up.
Pondering the immediate future, T considered suicide
the most viable option because his insurance company
would have given R a satisfying dollar amount.
His life insurance had an incredibly rare proviso that did not
deny payment for suicide.
The explanation for this was simple: T was the actuarial whiz
of the Milk of Motherhood Insurance Company.
Certain types of suicide paid a double indemnity.
Exactly one week before their third anniversary, their entire alphabet
of friends and family could smell the lava fomenting irreversibly.
Just before the epicenter climaxed, however, T quoted THE POEM
and suddenly there was sunshine and tranquility where there
should have been destruction and fatal enmity.
The poet was a lower-case man from Upper Silesia but the translation
into English was done by a New Jersey high school teacher.
However, the uber-love poem is a copyrighted thing and,
at this time, only paraphrasing can happen.
One verse described her beauty being strong enough
to make a man dream in stereo.
When their friends and family saw R and T celebrating
a third anniversary at Harry's Bar in Rocky Point,
they thought imposters had assumed
the identities of R and T.
No way could there be such peace and romantic harmony
between these models of marital volcanic substance.
Every night, for the course of three years, T would read a stanza,
a verse, or a single line from THE POEM written by xyzski.
Every day, for the course of three years,
R and T were the role models of marital bliss.
Whenever married friends or family members were experiencing
discord, they asked T for some comforting words from
the Upper Silesian. He refused to oblige them.
Then he read a New York Times review of the poet's
first anthology to be published in English.
The review included a historic reference to xyzski's
most popular verse: THE POEM.
Xyzski wrote that love poem for his fecal offspring.
The toilet, unflushed and near-solid brown, inspired
what T recited to miraculously save his marriage.
After reading the glowing review of new poems only
the reference to the fecal matter mattered to T.
Never again would he recite any part of THE POEM
to his beloved wife, who within weeks
of the non-recitation decision,
became T's ex-wife.
In the subsequent year, a handful of married people
within their circle of friends filed for divorce
because R would quote THE POEM
and either the husband or wife–
but never both–would
become her lover.
Adultery was the prevailing reason for each divorce
and R was exiled from the North Shore of Long Island.
Word has it, she moved to Nebraska only because
she could think of absolutely no reason
to not move to Nebraska.
As for T, nobody knows what happened to the man.
My guess: he was in the process of getting
an intelligence implant.
His refusal to reject the poetic medicine-miracle cure
was due to the learning process or whatever it is
that makes people read the New York Times.
A love poem is a love poem is a love poem
and if it works repeatedly for anyone,
that person would be utterly stupid
to disconnect from the source
simply because of a detail
about the poem's creation.
The short form for the disease that inflicted T
is TMI, as in Too Much Information.
Not only is ignorance sometimes bliss
but quite often it is essential for survival.
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