Domestic Villanelle by Alison Myers

If we don't overanalyze

the suburban house we wedded,

all of this could be paradise:

 

Your beer-can pyramid I criticize

left after a night regretted.

If we don't overanalyze

 

that our natures can’t acclimatize

(you turned the thermostat to tepid),

all of this could be paradise

 

(I prefer it warm enough to cauterize).

Mortgage-wound renders us indebted.

If we don't overanalyze

 

committing youth to amortize

and hope the value’s more than vetted,

all of this could be paradise.

 

Too selfish, proud to realize

suburbia turns the garden fetid.

If we don't overanalyze,

all of this could be paradise.

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Alison Myers teaches high school English by day and yoga by night. Although she’s studied philosophy and Italian literature, she prefers to play adequate acoustic guitar and get kicked out of art museums for staying too late. She lives in “Coastal Philadelphia” (New Jersey) with her husband, two dogs, and an overgrown garden. “Domestic Villanelle” is her first published poem.