Poetry Friday

I love the last lines of this poem, which make me think of Atticus and me, and our "unwise and persistent and lucky life together." 

For My Wife
by Wesley McNair

How were we to know, leaving your two kids
behind in New Hampshire for our honeymoon
at twenty-one, that it was a trick of cheap
hotels in New York City to draw customers
like us inside by displaying a fancy lobby?
Arriving in our fourth-floor room, we found
a bed, a scarred bureau, and a bathroom door
with a cut on one side the exact shape
of the toilet bowl that was in its way
when I closed it.

(go here for the rest of the poem, which ends with:)

and in this way began our unwise
and persistent and lucky life together.
~~~~~
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