A Devil’s Triangle

He stamped the earth with boots of muddied leather,
Then trudged, head hung, along a homeward path;
He trembled, sweating, though unsure of whether
It was a virus or a fevered wrath.

She’d left him stranded with a dog, two cats,
A cottage of disheveled bric-a-brac,
Assorted sweaters, shoes, and stacks of hats,
And four cold words: I’m never coming back!

He thought, You’re never leaving, though, you bitch.
Your lover came for you, and wasn’t he
Surprised to find you two would share a ditch
And not a cozy condo by the sea?
   
He looked behind, where rain—and madness—blurred
Where hearts were cracked, and sacked, and then interred.