By sarah dragonfleyes@excite.com
Date: 28 December 2000
prelude to sadness: part III
i question momentary sobriety. as if any moment has a clearcut chance to show the purity of the thought process. though at times i wish i was jaded enough to believe so. instead i think i shall live in disbelief.
so life is the pursuance of trust is it not?? the trusting of walking by ourselves down a road, or staying on top of gravity while we sleep aloft at night.
it's a matter of trust, whether through the clear eyes of a child and the earnest virgil of a lover awaiting the return of her cotton clothe decked knight. when he emerges from the shadows and kisses her goodnight with the cheap smell of charlie on his collar....
then she turns over to her side, the one not facing him as he encapsulates himself underneath the blankets and begins to snore...she waits for the sounds of his sleep, and lets her tears flow freely onto the worn pillow case underneath her head.
and she will stay
and smell the charlie another day
and maybe cook him eggs and bacon in the morning. because if she can't kill him with her bare hands, at least she can kill him eventually through clogging his arteries.
she can mope, and does. her chin hanging low to the battered linoleum floor with the cracks crowding out the design like spiderwebs. her clothing hangs off of her like a limp wet rag screaming out loud for its release from water.
she screams, at her plants when they die.
she laughs, when she stubs her toe.
he drives around in an old ford escort, that you can hear two blocks away.
the muffler fell off when he was visiting ms. charlie and they were banging away so hard in the back seat the rusted part finally gave way, and resounding their orgasm, fell on the hot pavement.
he screams, when he sticks himself in ms. charlie.
he laughs, when he comes home and sees his decrepit wife.
he has dirt under his nails, and a worn white cotton tshirt with the sweat stains in his armpits, his boots unlaced the moment he climbs in his beat up bucket. his feet stink and makes crude jokes about them in the grocery store lines, thinking only real mean can smell and admit it.
he lights up a camel wide, inhales, blows it in his wifes face.
she doesn't go to bed that night.
he comes home smelling of charlie, comes to climb into bed, opens the door, and sees that the smell of charlie isn't the only thing hanging around.....
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