He promised her it wasn’t just a fling.
He wasn’t the type (he said) to run around;
She noticed he still wears a wedding ring,

Though he claims it’s absolutely nothing.
A golden piece of jewelry, smooth and round,
He promised. Maybe it isn’t just a fling,

But at thirty-one she knows a rueful thing
Or two, she’s spent time at the lost and found.
She can’t help noticing that wedding ring,

Engraved inside—initials, dates—the dings
And dents of another life circling around;
But he keeps promising it isn’t just a fling,

She wonders idly, as the tenor sings
And the soprano coughs her last, lovely sounds,
If Rodolfo would have worn a wedding ring . . .

He loves her madly (when she doesn’t cling)
And soon, he swears, he will be free. Unbound!
He promises it isn’t just a fling,
And all the while, he wears his wedding ring.

Original appearance in Mezzo Cammin.