Friday, March 24, 2017

the perfect couple

we were a perfect couple,
the widow
says, buttering her toast,
her bloody mary.
she moves the yellow
froth of scrambled eggs
around her plate.
we never had an argument,
not once
was a cross word said.
we finished each
other's sentences,
never left or arrived
without a kiss.
we were the envy of the neighborhood,
what with all the divorces,
the cheating and lying.
the mistresses and affairs.
she looks out
the window at the high grass,
a rusted mower in the weeds,
and sighs.
have you ever had a perfect
love, she asks,
with tears
in her eyes. no, I tell
her, not believing a single
word she says. can't say
that I have.
I open another bottle
of vodka and top off
her drink. she says thank

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