The Day the Housewife Killed Herself The trees, inhabiting my Garden, always look Like dying, nursing home Veterans when you’re subdued, Fixating at the populace you left Behind. Go on! Join them; your truehearted, Your kinsfolk; plotting my Demise, how unsightly it Would be to knock me off, Join the circus. Living on the road, without A penny in your pockets, isn’t Noble, when you’ve got mouths To feed; not when the crucifix Is hidden in your cupboard. How can I be so fixated on Someone so repugnant? It must Be in the herb tea; the kind I drink Daily, in order to refresh my Sanity. Alas, the market calls, My respite, my get by, my Goddamned market. Grab My floral umbrella from the Antisocial rack, and my two Legs carry me along, dysphoric As they can be. All the masses, all the amused, Jubilant faces of the grocery, Even the peppers seems festive. The asparagus is sprightly, the Bananas are dancing, let me join Them, for an instant, let me waltz With the produce. Never have I felt so delighted, My normal outdoor trek Has led me to a mango mambo. "I’m no Astaire, but neither are you, Plum." My eyes are bright, as one By one, the fruits and Vegetables assemble in My wicker basket. I cannot Leave them here, no one will Appreciate them as much as I Do. In they go, all the vibrant colors, With the green going to the delightful Barkeep. She knows they’re all going Home with me, but she wouldn’t Dare tell anyone; her wink says it all. Homeward bound, me and my Delightful fruit; back to the Trials and unsightliness of my Dwelling. No! I cannot bring Them to that miserable hole, Not with that virulent bastard Sitting in his armchair. No, Today, we will lay down by This pond, I’ll muddy up My day dress and sop up The sun, enjoying my new Company. | 
