For better or worse,
For richer or poor,
Little she knew,
Her husband a whore.

Drinking the night away at last,
Spite and malice fill the glass,
Vengeful anger threatens her health,
Steel trapezoid still remains stealth.

She’ll never resort to bodily harm,
As she drinks dismay without alarm,
2 parts vodka, 1 part lime,
A mixture that remains sublime.

Who knew it could have come to this?
Give thanks to the spouse and his mistress.

She toasts her glass to their good years,
As she attempts to fight back tears,
“Here’s to love, and your new mate,”
She struggles to say in a state of sedate.

The glass, a projectile, thrown at the wall,
Reluctantly to the couch, she shall crawl,
Awaiting the call from her dearly beloved.

An apology, amends, or penance, she prays,
Stays hidden behind a marital haze.