Bursting from the past’s shadow to initially engaged applause,
she steps onto the scene and the crowd falls silent,
there is a cough from the back of the auditorium,
a whistle and crash as hopes fall like ancient bombs,
for she is the difficult second wife.
She is the dreaded second chance at love,
the one who was ACTUALLY the one, according to someone who spent a long time and a lot of money investing in the idea of another,
up until recently,
it’s for real,
and it’s HER,
and she fit a reused ring so perfectly,
so she became the difficult second wife.
The difficult second wife keeps her secrets in a locked diary,
so full of distrust,
she locks lips like she has something to prove.
At the sight of the first wife,
hell hath no fury like the long legged girl with the short temper,
but the sex is electric,
because she’s new,
not bored of you yet,
immune to your flaws and the causes of your difficult first divorce,
so her frenzies are forgiven.
She is, of course, eager to please,
knee deep in dirty looks,
thrown by family and friends who insist that they’re just adjusting,
and that they don’t mean to be cruel.
She catches each insult and shoves it into her mouth,
fashioning it into a crude smile that she shares,
without a single word,
because the difficult second wife doesn’t want any trouble.
When the sun sets,
and you’ve fallen asleep,
she pours all her pain into the pages of her diary.
There are places, glances and love songs that are lost on her,
because they came before her,
and can never belong to her.
She may be today’s love,
but can she compete with the ghost of a great love?
The difficult second wife dies on the pages of her diary,
desolate and dangerous as the tears fall,
with nobody to hold her.
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