The Daily Match
 

A Housewife’s Diary Letter


You were at work when, yesterday, I felt
as if sleepwalking at the grocery store—
there just for a bar of butter. Yeah, small chore—
not like trips where I’d dragged you there. I dealt
with it. Today, I’d dozed off with your breakfast
cooking on the stove. It was oatmeal.
Imagine how it crusted black. I woke fast
and scrubbed and scrubbed with pumice stone on steel.

I’d napped preparing it with thoughts about
that Safeway grocery incident last night.
I tried to tell you about it, all right?
So, when did you come home?—I’m blanking out.
I wish you didn’t leave your beeper on
vibrate—and surely not atop the fridge.
It clattered like a power saw at dawn
and jerked me awake, like pots in a sledge,

as did your noisy snore from the bedroom
upstairs; then how it huffed above Good Morning
America—the endless talk of groaning
sex there, at the White House, all those with whom,
they thought, he did it. Right then, I was back
to last night’s meets. He didn’t mind at all
shopping. From work, he drove in. His jet-black
hair seemed like yours. Guess what? Like you, he’s Paul!

I had just dodged the meat aisle pillar. There
it loomed. Him too. I was behind him when
checking out. What a fluke! The cashier then,
quite bubbly, tallied what she bagged with flair—
a shaken Coke bottle with cap gone pop.
Don’t touch my food divider. Stop! the lady
in front yelled out. He gently let it drop,
not answering her back. A man not ready

to press a point against a woman. Don’t
you know, you never touch a woman’s goods,
the cashier chimed in. Next, she caught the dude’s
eye for checkout: Five bucks, one cent, she droned.
He gave her five, hesitant with the one
he’d rather not break. I reached into my bra
purse, offered him that penny, and deal done.
He bowed and bowed. A man who’d stoop to a ma-

dam just for one paltry penny. I smiled.
He smiled. Before he could say anything
the cashier cut in: I’m now gonna ring
it. Lots of nice folk here too—she was dialed
in. Thus I lingered at the heart of it.
We’ve got to sit and talk when both awake.
You must have night tales too, your own tidbit.
Truly, let’s talk. Oh, treat’s in the fridge: cupcake.

------------------------------------------------------


~~~Original version ~~~

A Housewife’s Diary Letter


You were at work when, yesterday, I felt
as if sleepwalking at the grocery store—
there just for a bar of butter. Yeah, small chore—
not like trips where I’d dragged you there. I dealt
with it. Today, I had left your breakfast
atop the kitchen stove. It was oatmeal.
Imagine how it crusted black. Aghast,
I scrubbed and scrubbed with pumice stone on steel.

I’d dozed off while cooking with thoughts about
that Safeway grocery incident last night.
I tried to tell you about it, all right?
So, when did you come home?—I’m blanking out.
I wish you didn’t leave your beeper on
vibrate, specially not atop the fridge.
It clattered like a power saw at dawn
and jerked me awake, like pots in a sledge,

as did your noisy snore from the bedroom
upstairs; then how it huffed above Good Morning
America—the endless talk of yawning
sex there, at the White House, all those with whom,
they suppose, he did it. Right then, came back
last night’s events. He didn’t mind at all
shopping, and drove in from work. His jet-black
hair seemed like yours. Guess what? Like you, he’s Paul!

I had just dodged the meat aisle pillar. There
it loomed. Him too. I was behind him when
checking out. What a fluke! The cashier in
effervescent mood bagged and tallied with flair—
a shaken Coke bottle with cap gone pop.
Don’t touch my food divider. Stop! the lady
in front yelled out. He gently let it drop,
not answering her back. A man not ready

to press a point against a woman. Don’t
you know, you never touch a woman’s goods,
the cashier chimed in. Next, she caught the dude’s
eye for checkout: Five bucks, one cent, she droned.
He gave her five, hesitant with the one
he’d rather not break. I reached into my bra
purse, offered him that penny, and deal done.
He bowed and bowed. A man who’d stoop to a ma-

dam just for one paltry penny. I smiled.
He smiled. Before he could say anything
the cashier cut in: I’m now gonna ring
it. Lots of nice folk here too—she was dialed
in. Thus I lingered at the heart of it.
We’ve got to sit and talk when both awake.
You must have night tales too, your own tidbit.
Truly, let’s talk. Oh, treat’s in the fridge: cupcake.

Hi, Alex—

I enjoyed this poem a lot. The tone is right on the line between humorous and touching. A neglected wife writes a letter to her inattentive husband, telling him about a harmless flirtation with his younger, more attractive, more attentive doppelgänger in the supermarket the day before. Why does she write the letter? To amuse her husband? To try to make him jealous? To gauge from his reaction whether he is having an affair? He doesn’t seem to spend much time with his wife. Do they work different shifts, or does he work nights while she is a housewife? Does he get home late because he’s spending time with another woman?

I like the clever use of rhyme (some internal) and the verse form reminiscent of ottava rima, used in humorous verse like Byron’s Don Juan.

I wondered, though, if people still use beepers/pagers in this age of smartphones and texting.

The only thing I have to complain about is the handling of meter in some lines. The poem is in pentameter, but I had difficulty with a few lines. Precise, crisp meter is of paramount importance in humorous verse, just as comic timing is critical for comedians. Here are some possible alternatives for the lines that troubled me:
S1L5: “with it. Today I left and burned your breakfast” or “with it. Today I clean forgot your breakfast”
S2L1: “I’d nodded off while cooking, thinking about”
S2L3: “I tried to tell you about it, but feared a fight.” (“All right” seems more appropriate to a conversation than to a letter.)
S2L6: “set to vibrate, specially on the fridge.” (If you put a comma after “on” in the previous line, the “on” becomes stressed and the wrenched rhyme “on/dawn” and the double negative are fixed.)
S2L8: “and startled me awake, like pots in a sledge.” (Is “pots in a sledge” an idiom I’m not familiar with?)
S3L1: “as did your noisy snoring from the bedroom” (The reference in S3L3-4 to “yawning sex” is tricky. It could mean “boring intercourse” or “gaping genitalia.”)
S3L5: “they suppose he did it. Suddenly came back” (Could you fix the inversion here by putting the subject, “events,” in front of the verb, “come back”?)
S3L7: “driving from work to shop. His hair, jet-black
S3L8: “resembled yours. Guess what! Like you, he’s Paul!” (“Guess what!” is not a question.)
S4L3: “checking out. What a fluke! The cashier then”
S4L4: “with bubbly giggles tallied and bagged with flair— (“bagged and tallied” is proleptic)
S5 has pentameter lines, but the extreme enjambment and broken rhyme “bra/ma-“ forces it to be read fast and almost like prose.

I wondered at the end, when the N challenges her husband, “Truly, let’s talk,” whether she plans to invite him to work on rebuilding their marriage, confront him about her suspicion that he is having an affair, or tell him that she has decided to move on. Perhaps that depends on his attitude toward talking to her.

Hope some of this is helpful.

Glenn

Hello, Glenn,

Thanks for the detailed attention to the poem! I now have a revised version posted, which should address most of the points you raised.

I'm glad you like the form, reminiscent of the ottava rima, though not as rigorous. Your interpretation of the narrative layers falls within what I was aiming for - that delicate balance between humor and poignancy in an uneasy marriage for one or both parties.

Regarding meter, your suggestions are well thought out. I’ve revised the problem meter areas with them in mind while still maintaining the conversational quality of the poem. I was aiming for that, and yes, an even colloquial feel--all of which are reinforced by the sometime quirky rhyming, and sometimes stark enjambments. You made a compelling point about meter precision in humorous verse, and I believe the revised version achieves better rhythmic flow without sacrificing the naturalistic voice of the speaker.

To address your specific points:
- I reordered "tallied what she bagged" to fix the proleptic concern
- Changed "yawning" to "groaning" to avoid the unintended interpretation—even though with the historical marker included, your very imaginative “gaping genitalia” would not be evoked
- "Pots in a sledge" is indeed my own image - meant to evoke a jarring, clattering domestic disturbance
- The beeper remains as an intentional item that fits the historical marker included in the poem’s setting

I appreciate your thoughtful engagement with both the technical aspects and thematic undercurrents of the poem. I hope the revision works even better for you!

Cheers,
…Alex

Hi, Alex—

The revisions tightened the meter considerably. I still have three lines that I cannot scan as IP.

S2L3: I can only find four stressed syllables in this line, so I scan it as iamb, iamb, anapest, anapest.

S2L8: Here, too, I get tetrameter as iamb, anapest, iamb, anapest.

S5L4: This one has one extra syllable that doesn’t conveniently fit into a normal sub foot:
/EYE/ for CHECK/ out, FIVE/ BUCKS, ONE/ CENT, she DRONED./
I scanned it as headless iamb, iamb, iamb, spondee, cretic (which can’t be used in English prosody)
How about “eye for checkout, You’re one cent short, she droned.”
This scans as headless iamb, iamb, anapest, spondee, iamb.

Hope this is useful.

Glenn

Hi Alex,

I enjoyed this too, although the form didn't work for me. I just found it didn't go well with the material, as a more free-form approach would better reflect the rambling nature of the narrative/delivery, I think. Anyway, I'll give some more specific feedback below, including suggested line breaks, just to see how it might look if you are interested in trying a different form at all. Apart from that, it felt a bit too long, but it was still very enjoyable despite these two quibbles.


You were at work when, yesterday,
I felt as if sleepwalking at the grocery store—
there just for a bar of butter.
Yeah, small chore—not like trips where I’d dragged you there.
I dealt with it.
Today, I’d dozed off with your breakfast cooking on the stove.
It was oatmeal.
Imagine how it crusted black.
I woke fast and scrubbed and scrubbed with pumice stone on steel.

I’d napped preparing it with thoughts about
that Safeway grocery incident last night.
I tried to tell you about it, all right?
So, when did you come home?—
I’m blanking out.
I wish you didn’t leave your beeper on vibrate—
and surely not atop the fridge.
It clattered like a power saw at dawn
and jerked me awake, like pots in a sledge,

as did your noisy snore from the bedroom upstairs;
then how it huffed above Good Morning America—
the endless talk of groaning
sex there, at the White House,
all those with whom, they thought, he did it. [remove commas in this line?]
Right then, I was back
to last night’s meets. He didn’t mind at all
shopping. From work, he drove in. His jet-black [delete "shopping"?] hair seemed like yours.
Guess what? Like you, he’s Paul! [delete line?]

I had just dodged the meat aisle pillar.
There it loomed.
Him too. I was behind him when checking out.
What a fluke! The cashier then, quite bubbly,
tallied what she bagged with flair—
a shaken Coke bottle with cap gone pop.
Don’t touch my food divider.
Stop! the lady
in front yelled out. He gently let it drop,
not answering her back.
A man not ready to press a point against a woman.

Don’t you know, you never touch a woman’s goods,
the cashier chimed in.
Next, she caught the dude’s eye for checkout:
Five bucks, one cent, she droned.
He gave her five, hesitant with the one
he’d rather not break.
I reached into my bra purse,
offered him that penny, and deal done.
He bowed and bowed.
A man who’d stoop to a madam just for one paltry penny.

I smiled.
He smiled.
Before he could say anything
the cashier cut in: I’m now gonna ring it.
Lots of nice folk here too—she was dialed in.
Thus I lingered at the heart of it.
We’ve got to sit and talk when both awake.
You must have night tales too, your own tidbit.
Truly, let’s talk. Oh, treat’s in the fridge:
cupcake.

I love the ending!

It took me several readings over several days to understand the ending. Finding the poem in any other venue, I wouldn't have gotten to it.

The poem has a pleasant, conversational tone, giving the narrative a straightforward feel, but the timeline is anything but straightforward. Here's my best stab at ordering the events chronologically from earliest (A) through most recent (J).

C Wife goes sleepily to the store for a stick of butter.
A Reference to earlier shopping trips.
J Wife dozes at the stove, the day after the shopping trip
D (presumably) Return to previous day
F Wife tries to talk to husband
E Husband comes home
G Husband's beeper wakes wife
H Husband's snore wakes wife
I Beeper (or snore) disrupts TV watching
B The other Paul drives to the store and is seen there by wife
D Paul and wife meet at the checkout counter

I suppose the convoluted telling shows how sleep-deprived she is?

The B moment, Paul's arrival at the store, is particularly confounding. I think it happens before the C moment, because the wife has only come for a stick of butter, but she also seems to have "just dodged the meat pillar" when he arrives. Also, she names him, though (unless I'm confused) she won't learn his name until later.

The title seems to suggest that the wife was going to write about this in her diary, but decided to tell her husband about it.

This rewards rereading and thinking about. The convolution discourages this reader from doing those things. Dunno whether other readers are likely to feel the same.

FWIW.