The Courting Never Ends

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For the first ten years of marriage my wife, Ruth and I, and our three children lived under the poverty level. I was working two jobs and playing any music gigs that came along to scratch by. How to keep on courting one another when poor is a challenge. This poem expresses how we did that.

Two weeks before 
we share our vows,
in my Miller Hospital
x-ray scrubs, I sit, 
a lull in the activity
of the morning exams
with Helen, a fellow 
wheel chair jockey.
Closely she examines me,
“Do you want to have
a happy marriage?” I
nod in affirmation.
“Do you know the secret?”
“No,” slips quietly from
my lips, “Do you want
to know?” “Yes, of 
course.” Her eyes
flash behind her
glasses, accentuating
her words, “The courting
never ends. The courting
never ends.” 

She reads the puzzlement
that paints my face,
with exclamation points
behind each word
she emphasizes, “You
must never stop
dating your wife.”
Stories of Friday night
steak dinners, with
her deceased lover
of many years,
during a shared
lifetime peppered
with want and plenty.
Her words repeated
until locked In my 
subconscious, our
brief, intense encounter
interrupted by the
needs of another
hospital patient.

I sit here with you
on our date night,
our baby in a high
chair, our two
very young sons
at their places 
around the small
rectangular table
in our kitchen.
Two Dairy Bar pizzas,
a pepperoni for the
boys, the supreme
for you and me,
Gerbers for the baby,
a poor substitute
for steak on a
Friday night, but
one meal you will
not cook, just enjoy. 

Date night
is not what it 
once was, but
our love requires
some small gesture,
even in poverty, 
of just being with 
each other, two
lovers with the
evidence of their
love around them,
enjoying a piece
of locally made
pizza, with the words
of an old German
x-ray aide echoing
from long before,
“The courting never
ends. The courting
never ends.”
(c) 2016, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

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