Still wearing an apron
May 23, 2012
Confession of a Newly Divorced Woman
At the bottom of the stairs. I used to wait for you. To come down. Head first.
You’re a joy. When you’re fixing the garbage disposal. And your fingers are dripping. With sarcasm.
At the wedding. Your mother wept. Outside. In the parking lot. You’re not supposed to get married. At 3 o’clock. In the morning.
I can take heart ache. Who doesn’t want to find their husband. Jerking off. Over the dishes. Still wearing an apron.
This isn’t a marriage. Its an arrangement. The twins. Aren’t yours. They were adopted. Lets sign the papers. And send them back. UPS. Will guarantee almost anything.
I had more sex. When I was single. Your breath was bad. But not your confidence. I was wrong. And now I have to pay my indulgences. Still. I look out the window. And hope I see you walking. This way.