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      February 12, 2024Roberta BearySonnet #1: My Way

      My husband likes to say that love is blind,
      and little flaws are meant to be forgot.
      This morning while washing out my thong
      I checked his phone for texts, all is not fine
      since I read them. Killing comes to mind.
      The photos on his phone are steamy hot,
      I didn’t recognize my best friend Charlotte,
      all dolled up in black lace, the sex store kind.
      My therapist would say forgive, move on
      and I try my best but it’s not easy
      although slicing up his boxers helped a bit
      as did forwarding his boss those dick pix
      from my husband’s phone. Love might be blind
      to little flaws but not the cheating bastard kind.

      from #82 – Poetry Prize

      Roberta Beary

      “Age 15, I stumble upon a tattered anthology called The Book of Living Verse. It becomes my talisman. Saving my life again and again. In my forties, as one version of my life ends, my mantra is—Write Every Day, No Matter What Catastrophe. Twenty years on, I don’t know if I write to save others or myself. But I know the why doesn’t matter.”