I won’t stop drinking until you marry
me, you said as I railed you over the coals
for missing dinner.  

You don’t catch bears with buckshot
I hollered as I grabbed Olivia
and clothes for the next day
and stormed out.  

What hotel do we stay at?
I asked as she cried and screamed
at me, you were mean to Daddy.
What was my next move?
Please quit crying,
yes, I did yell at your father but…  

Standing out front of a hotel
on a hill in Frankfort, KY,
next to the interstate
my mother in law
informs me of the sum
of money just given
to her son, Olivia’s father,
my POSSLQ. You are not
entitled to a penny
since you won’t marry him.  
Excuse me but your son
has never asked
me to marry him,
sober I reply.  

There was no will,
no beneficiary listed
on anything.  

We were married,
the logical decision,
she was almost 5 years,
he, not sober yet, me still angry.
Twenty-four years together,
19 married, filled with blues,
injuries, insults, joys and sorrows,
two good, hard working,
dysfunctional people grafted,
grew, bloomed, sprouted
one seed and now stand
tall as 3 separate,
yet close, trees
in the same forest.