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Upon the day of reckoning,
with Charon’s ferry beckoning,
when our lengthy married joust is nearly done,
will we tot the scores up carefully,
religiously and prayerfully,
to find exactly which of us has won?

Will we need a calculator
to contemporise the data?
Will we still contest each precious point awarded?
Will our years of verbal sparring
have been worth the mental scarring
and the heavy weight of indignation hoarded?

Will the tallies spell out victory?
Will it be contradictory?
Will the umpires come up with a fair decision?
Or will we hold each other tightly,
cast our spite aside contritely
and treat the stupid scorecard with derision?