She

She should have left him at the altar -
a willowy boy too old for his looks,
half-mad in love with her form and laughter.

She made a better idol than wife -
a bride, a fiancé, but not a wife.
Soon she'd drive away in leather, missing no one.

Baby barely three and husband crying -
it was better to flee the raw, uninvited sound of brokenness
than for her to live with anyone, anywhere.

Who was he to bribe her with fidelity?
Sting her life with promise -
incite regret, drown her mastery?

No, better to abort a flawed judgment -
broad axe the rootage of mistake.
He could have tried to understand.