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When Steven leaves Grace, she continues and carries on living
By inertia usually lasting twelve days, giving
Jokes as such “Stevie, it’s ridiculous, but it is your life”
Only then skies start to rot and wither over Steve’s wife.

“It is no longer a life”, Grace is stating as a merchant
“Shape, texture and color of the good is no more a penchant”
No more fail disappointment and victory satisfaction
She says pulling the curtain “And it is just a mere fraction
Of the whole picture, where are you, dweeb? You have diabetes
And who is out there cooking for you when you need it, sweetie?”

Grace sells Steve’s musical intruments not to hurt or to venge.
She drinks in excess forgetting to take care of self. Revenge!
She sits on the porch next to the door like a silent mastiff –
She’s waiting for that holy moment of returning of Steve.

One day Steven does come back with wine, pastry and a new knife.
Looks at her tenderly jokes “Who’s hiding in the closet, wife?”
Grace is hecticly cleaning, rinsing glasses tense as a string
But then breaks down into tears and sobs “Is she thin? How’s your spring?”
“Why are you happily together and I’m alone and cling?”

In one year Steve passes at a blink of an eye “We did everything we could…”
Grace is there to touch his hair and throw a random chunk of earth at him. She should.
And then all disappears – letters and digits – there’s nothing but zeroes a la crude.

One day all that pain (like a pussy cat) is settled within Grace (like in a box)
Real life has another producer some other bar code, other time on the clocks
While hers is made up of those who don’t return overnight or later on to rock
And of sliding heaven doors are working on entrance only. The exit is faux.

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