04-26-2013, 12:20 AM
Winter was cold as a witch’s false teeth,
and no lie.
Though his new apartment was warm;
and he stood by the stove early one morning,
frying bologna and bacon, and stirring sausage gravy
that he poured over two pieces of brown wheat toast
already hard and stale, with mustard, mayonnaise and melted cheese
he’d left in the microwave for three minutes.
He made a sandwich out of all that he’d fixed,
and let it soak in a bowl of milk for a few minutes
before he gobbled it down in less time than he’d taken
to spread the mayonnaise over the bread.
Becoming hotter and hotter in the room,
he opened a twenty inch can of beer, grabbed a couple
children’s EZ-Peel oranges, and stepped out
to the balcony, where there was a chair to sit
and watch the untimely flies crawling and swooping
over the rancid, syrup stained wooden railings.
His wife was in the hospital.
After his mother found out about the affair her husband and
the young woman were having, she’d almost successfully murdered her
by lacing her cocktails with rat poison for several days in a row.
The woman was no rat, he knew that.
She was a stunning girl; and part of him still loved her,
and refused to acknowledge the possibility that she might die.
His daughter was in school now;
there was a special aid that was hired to look after her,
seeing that her brain activity had only got worse since the last surgery.
The other kids, a few of them anyway, always made fun of her.
They always would, he seemed rather certain.
Though he comforted himself by thinking that she would never know
about anything like that anyway.
and no lie.
Though his new apartment was warm;
and he stood by the stove early one morning,
frying bologna and bacon, and stirring sausage gravy
that he poured over two pieces of brown wheat toast
already hard and stale, with mustard, mayonnaise and melted cheese
he’d left in the microwave for three minutes.
He made a sandwich out of all that he’d fixed,
and let it soak in a bowl of milk for a few minutes
before he gobbled it down in less time than he’d taken
to spread the mayonnaise over the bread.
Becoming hotter and hotter in the room,
he opened a twenty inch can of beer, grabbed a couple
children’s EZ-Peel oranges, and stepped out
to the balcony, where there was a chair to sit
and watch the untimely flies crawling and swooping
over the rancid, syrup stained wooden railings.
His wife was in the hospital.
After his mother found out about the affair her husband and
the young woman were having, she’d almost successfully murdered her
by lacing her cocktails with rat poison for several days in a row.
The woman was no rat, he knew that.
She was a stunning girl; and part of him still loved her,
and refused to acknowledge the possibility that she might die.
His daughter was in school now;
there was a special aid that was hired to look after her,
seeing that her brain activity had only got worse since the last surgery.
The other kids, a few of them anyway, always made fun of her.
They always would, he seemed rather certain.
Though he comforted himself by thinking that she would never know
about anything like that anyway.