Divorcing Nirvana

Nathan entered,

keys on the island.

Lydia wasn’t curled

with a magazine,

as dinner heated.

“Hello?” He arched a brow

and scanned.

“Lydia?” His words returned hallowed.

Silence echoed acoustically.

A folded note set on the table,

a cherry candle flickered.

He sat, unfolded it.

“A divorce?” he said.

So, like, I hate to be “that guy,” dude,

but you wear ‘90s band T-shirts

with dead lead singers.

Irreconcilable differences, no?

I’m no angel; I like big hair bands.

Some Keith Sweat. I mean, hello,

we lost our virginity in a Subaru

to “Red Light Special.”

Nirvana? Are you trying to embarrass me?

Stone Temple Pilots, too?

How can I live with someone

who sports Pearl Jam shirts?

So, let’s put it like this, my dude:

burn the shirts or lose me.

He put the paper on the table,

couldn’t stop laughing.

“I won’t burn anything,” he said.

Lydia appeared from the balcony,

cigarette smoke followed.

She wore a long MXPX shirt, dark stockings—no underwear.

“Not going to change, dude?”

Nathan pulled her onto his lap.

“I’ll never change,” he said, pinching her side.

She squirmed, chuckling.

“That’s why I love you.”

She embraced him.

“MXPX? Really?”

“Shutup,” she said, slapping his arm.

“No divorce?” he said.

“It was a joke, idiot.” She winked.

Their laugh lifted the soul of a rock song,

never changing the lyrics.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://literaryrevelations.com/2026/04/06/two-poems-by-andrew-cyr/

X: AC0040