When she was married
Sunday mornings lingered
long into the eve
after Saturdays were spent
at the movies
in the shops
accumulating
life’s little things.
All the week, they
would sit
worn from work
watch the telly –
watch the telly –
watch the telly –
succor
what she cooked
in grand fanfare.
Then the years came on
seeming swift and so
after a few shows
he would remove
to another room
to play his games,
get checked on
get called to dinner.
To work, to store
to home again,
more time for she
to wash the linens
sweep the hearth,
put his dinner away
uneaten
and in the morn
untouched.
More years came on.
After meeting mates
for a few, he
removed
to another room
to play his games,
get checked on,
get called to dinner
arrive too late,
bemoan the days…
For she
in her eves
reverted to words
in a single sitting
in the room where
the telly gathered dust
writing
for her studies.
His days grayed
Her days brightened
He watched her leave
one day
from the window,
his next wife,
the good wife,
would nag.
