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He wanted to rest. She wanted to pester.
His eyes closed. She yelled “Lester!”
The garage door needs fixing, she began to fester.
He was getting tired of his wife, Old Ester.

Can I please have a tiny bit of peace?
She asked if he had yet signed the lease.
He was exhausted from an eight-hour day.
She wanted him to work; he wanted to play.

He grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV.
She began to bug him rather incessantly.
She wanted him to mow the lawn or clean his car.
She was no longer his girlfriend, a shining star.

She had become a chore, a drudge, a hounding hag.
He wanted to get away, in a car that could drag.
He left the house, pretending to go get a cigarette.
That was twenty-six years ago, and he is not back yet.

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