Voices on the Wind
A Smidgeon of Lunacy
Stepping out of the shower
surrounded by miniscule
beads of moisture, she eyed
the reflection popping from
a wide vanity mirror; a pear
shape without a stem, legs
added like Mr. Potato Head,
all wrapped neatly in a
quasi Turkish towel
Marriage leftovers, one of
many, abandoned for greener
pastures. Silly men, grass is
only green if it receives water.
Her imagination envisioned a
desert populated by old farts
and their trophy blond wives.
What a delicious thought.
Wise first wives focused on desserts,
chocolate and whip cream with
a cherry on top, intact, virginal.
Towel left in the hamper, dressed
and ready for a spin, she flipped the
dishwasher to short cycle. Throbbing,
swishing water and thumping dishes
began filling the air with sounds.
She bumped and ground her way to
a soft sofa. An open book wobbled
while words blurred on the page.
She dozed, comforted by the warm
fuzzy feeling her mind lent her body.
For a moment it felt like first love,
unknown, but anticipated as the joy
of tomorrow’s pink sunrise. Alone,
she knew it was merely a smidgeon
of lunacy in a sane world.