she’d been so happy that first year with him,
he such a gentleman and scholar, and she
at night school for a business degree—she
worked as a waitress eight days a week, days
at his favorite bistro, and weekends down
at papa stag’s bar and grill. she made great
tips, but she wanted something more, and youth
was skating away each new day faster than
last night’s dew drying in sudden sunlight . . .
but now debra’s in a bad place with jim,
because jim doesn’t know how to use his
words. it’s far too common, this malady
of madness—anger given reign over
love, over life, over sense . . . and over. . .
David M Pitchford
2 Dec 2011