In my naiveté I think that poets are
perfect. They have to be to write so
perfectly about life, don’t they? And
then I read two wonderful poems about
family life by a woman and two wonder-
ful poems about family life by a man.
Then I read that they divorced back
in 2010 and after I got over being dis-
appointed in the perfect muses and
their perfect poems about family life,
I just appreciated the poems for them-
selves, which I suppose is the way it
should go. And, as I think about it,
there was just a hint perfectly, prophet-
ically placed in that one poem, wasn’t
there?