I’m a woman who’d never had to cope
with the prediction that my horoscope
hinted would happen on a “trip,” a cruise
when those who assigned cabins, would confuse
a “gent” who’d been assigned to me
with a woman on our journey -
in contradiction to what I read,
“Don’t get involved with a dunderhead.”
I tried to switch, get a single cabin.
Not a hope, all sold out, I could not win.
Sharing cabins when you are old
is quite de rigeur, I’ve been told,
but my friends at home could not conceive
of the chump I’ve drawn, I do believe.
His clothes are worn through, quite threadbare,
neglected, in need of repair.
I think he’s parsimonious.
He’s not at all fastidious.
He sits alone and plays solitaire,
except when he’s suffering from mal de mer.
Now that two weeks of the cruise are done
I find that this man is just homespun,
a simple, good man, who loves ice cream,
who rose quite high in academe,
has friends who hold him in high esteem,
a sense of humor that is a scream.
All he needs is a woman’s care
to make him look quite debonair.
I don’t read my horoscope any more
not since it insulted my new amour.