Love Equals- by Heidi Curtis

Love Equals

At 16 they walk hand in hand as one
even their hands have a coded language.
Their lives consist of school, dance and soccer
and each other, the most important thing.
Everyone says they're too young, just you wait
High school romances never last for long.
Then love equaled laughing and making out.

At 20 they walk with arms intertwined
communicating with subtle glances.
In a brand new state they go to college
they are together in this strange new world.
everyone thinks they will end up pregnant
just stupid kids making more stupid kids
Love equals support and proving them wrong

At 24 she walks down the isle
her radiance makes his eyes fill with tears
they say their vows and make a commitment
to have and to hold through good and through bad
Love equals sharing their lives together

At 30 they walk with their small child
laughing at the knock-knock jokes he makes up
Everyone adores their cute family
Love equals putting the family first

At 60 they walk hand in hand together
For him she is still his perfect pink pearl
and when she looks at him she still feels safe
36 years of marriage just flew by
Love equals still loving your wrinkly friend

In heaven they fly together in sync
Love equals sharing your eternity

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The poem above is an imitation of Not the song but After by Nicholas Freidman

Not the Song, but After

Not the Song, but After

By Nicholas Friedman Nicholas Friedman

Now everywhere the pageantry of youth

      is on display:

The squeal of bike chains spinning through the gray

     plays fugue to puddle-froth;

The punctual blitz of hyacinths in April

     ushers spring

with lavender dripped from the upturned wing

     of wind-swept Gabriel.

A youngish pair walks wired at the arms—

     she casually ribbing

him, he lightly brushing her breast, jibbing

     their step to spare the worms

stranded along the road. Too soon, their laughter

     rises and goes

drifting toward silence. And now the young man knows

     love’s not the song, but after—

like the mute, remembered chorus of the rain

     that stains the walk

long after falling, or the lifeless stalk

     still hoisting its head of grain.

Uneasy now, she loosens from his hand.

     Their dark familiars

stare back, reflected by the passing cars,

     with speechless reprimand.

Before the chill, each chartered hell grows hotter,

     yet every burn

will teach him how to run—and how to turn

     her wine back into water.