“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Thursday, September 19, 2019
ROI
He looks forward to
a cold beer
after balancing the books
all day.
She looks after
the home and kids
before they fall apart
again today.
He questions
if she has done enough,
She answers,
Dirty laundry is never done.
His job is Important.
Her role is Obscure.
His time is well compensated.
Her life becomes poorly defined.
The tension to stretch
makes them both
recoil
at the thought of
broke(n).
She asks him about his day
now that he is relaxing,
he tells her about the stress.
No wonder
He does not
ask her
the same.
Eventually, he passes out
cold.
She checks in warmly,
to see if he needs anything
more.
He spends the night
breathing heavily.
She treads lightly
earning her commissions
in Time.
He will be right where
she left him.
Painting (still life) by Gerret Willemsz Heda, c. 1642 in [Public domain].
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