Barry

The grating rasp of her Bic
Like nails on a chalkboard.
He hates smokers with the slit-eyed disgust of those who quit
Cold turkey.
(No pain, no gain)

He did it standing in the line at the downtown Royal Bank.
Hearing someone whisper, “My God, that stinks”
He rubbed out his addiction on the leather sole of his
Black Dack’s shoe.
(When only the best will do)

He stares at the lines around her mouth
Deeper than they need to be
The leftovers of thousands of cigarettes,
Hundreds of books consumed.
(Read ‘em and weep)

Another plate of grey roast beef
Served on a TV tray
In front of the channel 7 news.
The kids clamoring in the kitchen
(A man’s home is his castle)

His side of the bed
Hospital corners tucked tightly
Holding in a rageful rest
Her side a tangled web
(Said the spider to the fly)