Their Last Day

He was lying on his newly mowed grass, stretched on his back, still running hose in hand. Starring at the sky, an unblinking pawn, a peaceful setting to finally rest. The grass was soaked from the running water, so I went to find the faucet to close. Following the hose past lush garden color, grape vines, and stalks of multicolored rose. There, on the back patio, a table, upon which a cocktail sat half finished. Twisting the tap, the water now secure, a movement I spy, through the window pane. Sitting in the recliner, a woman, watching afternoon baseball with a drink. Two brown Labradors sleeping at her feet, they are unaware of their Master’s fate. I return to his side and feel for pulse, silent, still, stiff, and cold, it was too late. Stepping to the front door, I ring the bell, amid barking dogs, she opens the screen. “Yes. Who are you?” she asked irritated. “I’m here to inform about your husband,” I replied to her with a friendly smile. “You’re her husband?” she inquired nervously. “Yes,” I replied. “And you must be his wife.” “I have been expecting you, please come in.” “Shall I call my husband in from the yard?” “I don’t believe that will be required now.” “Are they both gone?” she asked pouring a drink. Taking the drink I replied, “Their last day.” © Copyrights G. Jones 2006