Shawn L. Bird

She arrives home exhausted.

“Ooh,” he says, nose curled.

“Those pants are terrible.”

She stares at him, deposits groceries on the counter,

heads down the hall,

and collapses into bed, too tired

to discuss appropriate comments,

respect, and positive encouragement.

She sleeps.

Hours later, she awakens, hungry,

makes some toast.

He comes upstairs.  “The kid is out,” he says,

heading to the bedroom.

Ah, she thinks.  That’s code for ‘Apology sex.’

Wise of him.

She bathes, listening to him preparing

in the other bathroom.

She climbs into bed,

to find him snoring.

She wishes she had eaten beans,

cauliflower

and cabbage for dinner.

She ponders delivering a two footed

kick to his backside, propelling him out of bed,

and into the wall.

(An easy task, since now she probably outweighs him).

Instead, she rolls over,

and sleeps.