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Children of Divorce
by Michael C. Keith

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed wasted breath,

A waste of breath the years behind.

                                         –– W.B. Yeats

When he awoke from his afternoon nap on the front porch, he immediately noticed that the house was terribly askew.

“Lord, will it ever settle down?” he groaned.

The facade was leaning at a perilous angle and the roof pitched drastically in a southerly direction. Meanwhile, the dormers tipped both east and west threatening to topple. Every door assumed its own hazardous position, and the windows went this way and that about to shatter.

As he stood up, he landed on his backside, yelling “What’s up?”

“No!” shouted his wife from below. “I’m down. You’re up.”

“Here we go again,” growled their landlord. “Your lease specifies that you must keep your house in order, and this is anything but. Look at what you’ve done! What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“We’re sorry, but it’s very hard to keep things straight when we’re both from broken homes,“ replied the distraught tenants.