A couple of days ago I was talking with a neighbor who was having difficulty communicating with her husband. She said he's too busy for her. He's "out saving the world." When that happened with my husband, Ken, I sometimes wrote a poem about it.
THE PERFECT ALIBI, CONTINUED
You were hours late for dinner
again,
The egg rolls I had worked on all afternoon,
Were limp.
Contrasting my rigid demeanor.
Our dinner guest,
A psychiatrist,
Seemed bemused,
And appeared to be
Mentally taking notes,
On the unfolding of this,
All to frequent,
Domestic drama.
I remained calm
Throughout the description,
Of your last minute gallant efforts
To save a public official's job.
But the part about rescuing,
The man in the wheelchair,
Trapped in the revolving door,
Was just too much!
Why can't you ever,
Just stop off
For a few drinks,
Like a normal person?
Cecily Crossman
***
