Sunday, November 01, 2015
The Woman Who Counted By Sundays
Thus, “Three Sundays since my Pupsy left!”
or “Pupsy came back two Sundays ago.
I forgot to tell you.”
At a point she reverted to: a mess of
Sundays ago, or so many Sundays
I lost count.
His last departure looked permanent,
but she spied him in Walmart. Alone,
of course.
She followed him until he pawed the
no-label DVDs. Then approached him
from the back. “How’re doin, Pups?”
They brought a chair for him, and she further
commanded a glass of water. He liked
her taking charge.
Back he came.
So long ago now, that she dropped the Sundays.
With the two Ethels one Monopoly night in the
bungalow, she stayed on topic with “My Pubsy
might look scrawny, but he delivers in the one
department!”
The laughter reached him in the dirt cellar as
he disassembled a lawnmower.
Then one Ethel maintained: “Still, you should take
it easy on him.”
Two, “Or the life might go outa that huge thing!”
The whole house swelled with their guffaws, and
he put down the glowing wrench to savor it.
Well, anyway, some have an odd romance.
Others let the word turn to ashes on their tongue.
Labels: breakups, couples, reconciliations, women
