Four Men who Broke My Heart (And Then There's Number Five)

The Four Men who Broke My Heart

(And Then There's Number Five)

by Erin L George

 

He was an awkward boy

who came of his own

somewhere in between

Roxette and ZZ Top.

I fell in love with him

on the ferris wheel at Canobie

where our names are carved

(initials anyway)

in rusted metal arms.

 

(R + E 4eva)

 

He was an English bloke

who spoke the language of love

letters we wrote

from one shore to the next.

He asked me 

to send him golden curls -

I tucked them in an envelope

(he said he slept with it)

and asked me for more.

 

(Love Always,

        in All Ways)

 

He was a red head

I wasn't even attacted to -

perferring the darker sort.

But his art grew on me

like poetry

and I sat for him, as he drew

something inside

I'd never seen before.

His brush had a way of stroking me

and making my eyes

softer.

 

(Can you believe what we made?)

 

He was naieve and full of love

Cowboy boots, a pick up truck -

my knight in shining armour

(paying off my credit cards).

Marco?

Polo!

He took no time

to get down on one knee:

"Erin, will you marry me?"

 

(Yes, please!)

 

He's a stud from Italy

who keeps me on my feet.

I can never tell for sure -

serious, or mocking me .

He wears his heart everywhere

But certainly not on his sleeve.

His blushy stare a mystery.

In his arms,

I finally sleep.

 

(Knock, knock)

 

And then...

He ran off with a stripper girl

(and married her).

They had two kids -

a year before his father's heart attack

where he held her up

(as if she'd even known the man!)

He runs the ambulance

and has gone completely bald -

envious of ZZ's locks.

 

(I guess he had a thing for table dancers)

 

He married a lesbian

(for a green card and 18 months)

reminding me, first

that I'd had my chance

to be his Earl Grey bride.

The lesbian was butch

she never had hair enough to cut

and stuff in pink cherry

envelopes.

She divorced him, fast

But

 

(I like girls too!

             Just not enough to marry them)!

 

He claimed bankruptcy,

declared his bisexuality,

and drove coast to coast

in a beat up 69 Chevy.

He said he liked his girls

(plural)

with too many tattoos

and boots up to their knees.

He still thinks of me

when he hears "Hey Jealousy"

One, two, my prince

at the Middle East -

he likes it when she screams.

 

(I wonder, how does he like his men?)

 

He filled his shed,

naming it "the house of broken dreams"

and picked up the bottle

instead of fixing things.

His eyes were dead,

as dead as she

who broke his heart

and has moved on into eternity.

Excuses

    Excuses:

He drank every night

and hit the kids.

Then,

he gave them

gave us

away.

 

(I feel sorry for his liver).

 

Number five?

Not sure what to make of him.

He still holds me.

But I'm so unsure.

Safe in his arms?

A player?

Or

is it his charm?

Fingers crossed,

cutting limes

and I have no bandaids.

Afraid to move

Afraid to live

       Puts me in a haze.

 

(What will I say of him?)

 

"Housekeeping!"

I'm running out of fingers.

Reviews

[Tara♥Undefined&h..]

just so you know "bandaides." should be bandaids but othewrwise this was an awesome poem. I could just see all those guys and how their first impression was nothing like the real them. Just like men to be so strange and cruel. I loved it. Keep up the good work!!!!