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.