Your New Boyfriend

He is tall enough. Dark, nearly handsome.
On your first date, he’ll be sure to tell you
His last ex was a psycho bitch from hell.
He’ll tell you, that when he and his first wife

Had their first argument, she called the police-
For no reason. "She was fucking crazy.”
You will believe: because the citron sun
Matches the yellow tulips that he bought;

Because he had the good taste to bring you
Here, to your second favourite restaurant
And only at the third time of asking;
Because he bought indifferent champagne.

He will tell you about his next girlfriend
And how she was an obsessive stalker.
That his second wife was schizophrenic,
That his third was a dangerous narcissist.

You’ll happily add her to the total
Of his ever grander calculation.
His history of victimisation
By every woman that he’s ever “loved”.

You will not recognise the sense of dread
Beating in your head because it doesn’t
Reinforce the image of your romance,
Sparkling like some distant promised gemstone.

You’ll tuck your doubts into a dark cupboard
Alongside all the “eat by” dates on tins,
And Ts and Cs, skimmed through before purchase,
Ignoring all the red flags he juggles.

Now this may be your last chance to look up.
Before you’re added to the “mental exes”.
Before you start to show the clear symptoms
Of one who loved against the evidence.

Once you’ve learnt to fear him for his temper,
You’ll find out that the real horror lies
In the perfect strength of his delusions
And how you listened hard before you fed them.