The Perfect Match

Written for:  Sunday Whirl #437

Words:  branches, flat, family, hope, chart, matters, pop, pie, stay, careless, takers, egg

All branches
of the family
had their
charts done,
singles hoping
to find a sign
they would be
compatible with. Serious
matter. No one wanted
to be careless, taking
chances that after
a few months down
the road, their marriage
would fall flat as
a fried egg. Grand-Pop
thought the idea was
so much pie-in-the-sky.
An arranged marriage,
was best.  You stayed
together, grew to love
each other.  No one
consulted charts.  You
would visit the matchmaker.
She knew best.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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