It is my observation
(To my consternation)
That opposites sure do attract;
That one from List A marries
One from List B
And together sign marriage contracts.
In my old home town
On the West side were found
Those who accents were gallic and thick.
These recently settled
Most certainly nettled
The natives from East of the crick
The East Siders, proper
As Puritans, toppered
With top hats and corsets and spats,
Regarded newcomers
as rougher and dumber,
With morals like wild alley cats.
The West siders, natch
With aplomb and despatch
Branded those from the East Side as prudes
Who, when its was handy
Took sips from a brandy,
Not guzzle it down as one should.
West siders played pitch,
Yelled “you sonnamabitch!”
Danced loudly to squeeze box and fiddle,
Threw horseshoes for fun,
Sat in the back Sun-
Days and left Mass somewhere in the middle.
The East side, refined
Preferred things of the mind
Than the rough housers across the river;
Only when left the altar
The priest with his psalter
Did they in their pews even quiver.
To dance the foxtrot
Is exciting — wot? wot!
No pounding the floorboards for us!
Genteel bridge, maybe whist,
Gave of gambling the gist
Without the uproar of the tourbus
The lodestone, we see,
Has a propensity
For north pole to south pole seek out.
So, too, with the folk
Who cannot tell a joke
For the ones who cannot do without.
Old Plato, I swear
With philosopher’s flair
Said couples were once all connected,
Then split down the middle,
Giving birth to the riddle
Of why we meander dejected
Until we locate
Our original mate
Thus rejoining what fate put asunder
Any other conjunction
Leads to tragic dysfunction
A cosmic debacle and blunder!
Thus, our destiny:
From those like us we flee
And cleave unto the wholly dissimilar,
For good or for ill,
Misery or mad thrill—
Be they princess or serial killer.
And, so, sons of bakers
And humble brickmakers
Wed belles wearing white gloves at dances;
And daughters of bankers
Could not help but hanker
For mill boys with meager finances.
They discovered, once hitched
That they been bewitched
By the chance to rise up in the world
Or to learn how to laugh
Swig wine from a carafe—
Into marital strife they were hurled!
Yet we often discover
Our soulmate, our lover,
Can teach us, by words or example,
To pull from the deep
What had fallen asleep,
That others had laughed at or trampled.
And so, after years,
And perhaps a few tears,
We mime our significant other;
If we lived for millennia
We might find in many a
Partner a sister or brother.
In the best cases, time
Molds from youth in its prime
The sculpture Rodin ably fashioned:
Of lovers embracing,
The wine of love tasting,
The orbits of daystars impassioned.
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