Heaving a sigh, the man resigns himself
to another day as husband and provider.
“They just don’t appreciate me.
I give them everything,
and ask so little in return.”
All I need is a glass of lemonade,
my slippers and
some quiet time to relax
when I come home.”
“Is that so much to ask
after working all day for them?
But, no, they never think of me.
They just want more and more
of my time and money”
With frequent mumbles of
“The respect due a priesthood holder”
the man mourns through his day,
Convinced that his unhappiness
is all due to “their selfishness”.
During his day, he often dreams of a “good wife”
who lives only to meet his needs,
but needs nothing from him.
In gloom he returns home,
and counts each undusted corner,
each speck of “improperly cooked food”,
as conformation of
his unappreciated status in the family.
Withdrawn in his thick, isolating
stronghold of self pity,
the man excuses his neglect of his family.
Refusing to give more than
mere money and
some begrudged moments of his time,
the man, builds, brick by brick, a fortress
where he will indeed be left alone,
with only himself as miserable company
throughout the eternities.