You Owe Me

There’s a foul wind blowing in from ten o’clock
Saying, You owe me. I check my balance books,
And they don’t look off, but the wind insists,
You owe me. What? I ask. You abandoned me. 
That was twenty years ago. You did not obey. 
He had warned me ahead of time that in the temple
They ask you to obey, and said, If you marry me,
I won’t enforce it. So we made our crooked deal,
And he got everything his way without ever once
Having to bring his arm to the square, until I left.
You did not obey. But we had a deal, I reply. 
I should have thought, but didn’t, at the time,
If he wasn’t square with God, he wouldn’t be
Square with me. And vice versa, 
He should have thought, but didn’t.