The jilted husband made another circuit around River-Run.
He was still wearing their ring --he looked down at the rocks
she sat for pictures with yellow flowers braided in her hair.
One round was about a quarter-mile --he was on his 15th with
each step being a penance; his fuming mind, his priest.

He reclined on a picnic table in the center of the circuit,
exhausted from grief, sorrow, anger, and jealousy. He told
the interloper that he'd "tear his f*king face off." She used his
bombast to defend her cuckoldry, though the chicken
and egg wasn't an enigma in this soap opera.

Breaking up is excellent for weight loss; he was down 40 lbs
in less than a month. The ring slipped off his reduced finger
into the uncut grass. He spat at the thought of another divorce
& wished she'd reconsider, fancying he could simply forgive. 
He yearned for her, cuddled in their bed, but
he'd already lost the "their" forever.