Twenty Nine Years
she’ll see how the week goes
and then decide
every day it’s something
how much can she take anyway
living with that crazy bastard
twenty nine years
nothing changes
the next time I’m leaving she yells
she’s always going to leave
the shit she’s put up with
for twenty nine fucking years
give me one more reason and I’m outta here she yells
the old man slumps
in his beat to hell leather chair
with a cigar and a newspaper
and sighs
then
thinking he gave it enough time asks
is dinner ready
she squints her eyes
clenches her teeth
mumbles incoherently
and clanks two plates
hard
onto the table
the old man
scratches his belly
blows smoke coolly
into the tense air
and smiles
never doubting
a meal would follow
—C Driver
