of infidelity and dirty sheets

he pulled up undusted blinds and gazed out
at falling snow and frost
 
behind him, an empty bed covered with dirty
sheets and meaningless sex
 
in a photo of them on a nightstand, he wore 
a piece of a smile,
 
the rest had been peeled off and held in her
hand where a marriage
 
certificate was crumpled up along with a
whiskey glass
 
deception crept in on their relationship with
aging knees,
 
the betrayal, arthritic;
 
her shame was clothed in black and stretched 
all over his mental state
 
to where he was popping anti-depressants
with the the same fervor as 
 
halloween candy,
 
children wear masks as to deceive;
 
her boss kicked a chair out from underneath,
a promotion,
 
she choked on his advances, spit up large
chunks of guilt
 
his feet were swift, covered often with mud
from a muddy path
 
a stepford wife sat at home,
knitting
knitting,
 
could never bring herself to tell her husband,
finances that once suffered 
 
as do fat kids being picked last to play 
stickball,
 
now wore black, red washed down a washtub
sink with lint and loose change;
 
wind cut across city sidewalks as her legs
departed a cab,
 
elevator tenth floor pushed, slow key in a 
lock, handle turned, perspiration
 
grip, a draft pushed against her face,
dropped a white wine into
 
a thousand pieces,
 
loud scream,
 
he slept on his way down to where footprints
and bad attitudes 
 
fell between cracks,
 
she had come to ask him for 
forgiveness…
 
 
Copyright © 05/30/2013  Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®
Image
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