the lament

my wife went to the march
today
and nobody made me pancakes,
or walked the dog.
little bobby wore the same
diaper for twelve hours,
so I had to put him
in his playpen, in the basement
with the door closed.
I even had to get the mail
myself
and find my own clean
socks.
what's the world coming
to?
she came home tired
and hungry.
she didn't even want
me to kiss her.
her hair wasn't brushed
beneath the crazy hat
she had on,
and she wasn't wearing any
makeup. I hardly recognized her.
she smelled like tear gas
and communal angst.
I don't understand, she's
changed.
the honeymoon might be over.
her voice was hoarse
from screaming,
and her once soft
tender hands that used to
caress me
were calloused, bleeding
from carrying about
her wooden sign
and an extra hot
grande vanilla skim soy latte.