"We fall in love because we long to escape from ourselves with someone as beautiful, intelligent, and witty as we are ugly, stupid, and dull. But what if such a person should one day turn around and decide they will love us back? We can only be somewhat shocked-- how can they be as wonderful as we had hoped when they have the bad taste to approve of someone like us?" From the chapter "Marxism" in the novel On Love by Alain de Botton.

Marxism: Groucho, Not Karl

Because she is beautiful,
or still so seems to me

(admitting that to an eye more critical than mine,
and younger too, a bit worn by time--
some wrinkles here and there,
some secrets
with her hairdresser),
intelligent

(avant, articulate, conversant in the arts,
her husky voice retaining yet
a trace of Brooklyn accent),
and witty

(En garde! She stabs with her riposte!);
knows food and wine
and where to find good cheap cafes and bistros.

She is wonderful,
and I, ugly


(she whispers that I am a sexy kind,
that "sexy" is a state of mind.),
stupid

(I program her VCR,
and, tousling my sparse hair,
she says, "How clever you are!"),
and dull

(she finds me dryly droll).
Escaping from myself: ugly, et cet
I love and woo, albeit
trepidatiously, and unexpectedly,
successfully.

She loves me back!


(I love her front.)

Oh, am I really lovable,
or has she, my adoree,
diminished: not quite such a marvel,
with bad taste,
after all?

Copyright 1992