They think they’ve made it -
think they’ve run the marathon of marriage
and can sink
exhausted on the other’s arm
clinging together, quietly jubilant.
But no! There is another mile to go
feet blistered lungs knackered.
One of them stumbles - will the other stop?
And there’s a ditch – one falls, the other crawls
down one side up the other
into the final straight. And will it matter
if they arrive separately,
having travelled together?
Can they say ‘We did it’?
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Jill Boucher would
be pleased to hear them.