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By Mary E. Adair

Still glow the coals of discontent
Long after the flame of anger is spent,
So you store up a rick of snubs and slights--
Enough to kindle many fights!

Though the heavy backlog is of fancied pain,
And the tinder, a chip-on-the-shoulder disdain,
The flint - his stubborn male pride will be,
That never fails to spark your own self-pity.

You blow away the protective bark of trust
By puffing like a bellows with endless disgust,
'Til the final thrust of slurring you aim
As a poker used for stirring new flame,
Flares the smouldering argument anew--
'Til all is ashes - your marriage, and you.

Spring 1963 Mary E. Carroll Nicholson (Written the year of my divorce)

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