Final divorce papers.

Cold black and white.

Why does it hurt so much today,
      when I’ve been numb for so long?

What a time for feeling to burn back
             into my body,
     as if a tourniquet had been released.

What kind of pain is this?

     Is it missing her?

     Or guilt because I'm glad it’s finally over?

Was it my fault, for insisting on being what I am,
     a cop?

Or hers, for wanting me to change,
     to "be somebody",
     turn my back on my life,
     my friends?

God, how she hated Starsky!

She never liked my work,
     but was it after he and I began,
     that she and I stopped?

He always understood, when she did not,
      what drove me,
     why I was out there on the streets —
     the odd hours, unexpected calls, the dangers —
     the growing bond of partnership,
             of caring,
      that keeps a team alive out there.

I think the feelings stopped that day,
      in the middle of the screaming,
      when she accused me and Starsk of ...
           sharing too much love,
       and I was shaken, knowing she was right,
       though not the way she meant.

He shares my soul.

Funny, the pain is less
     just thinking about him.

He'll be over soon, with some beer,
     and that dumb grin.

Maybe we’ll go out and look for ladies,
     or stay in and talk the night away.

But I know that in the morning
     I’ll be able to go on
Because he’ll still be there.

< strong>                                         Rachel Duncan
                                                                   Hanky Panky 6
                                                  1980