“ ’Tis the End of The World!” She cried,
and covered her eyes with her peg-arms.
He merely handed her an orange,
taking a bite of the binoculars.
“What ever shall we do about it dear?”
He asked as if commenting on the weather.
“I’ve known this was coming all Monday!”
She exclaimed,
“I’ve had a sharp pain in my lower heart for years!”
He sighed theatrically,
as he was well acquainted with his wife’s melodramatics.
“Well what do you propose we do about it, dearest?
Snake of my desire, pomegranate of my eye.”
“I suppose we had better prepare the incubators,
wipe of the algae,
and all that rock and roll.”
She announced, enthused.
By then he was lost, watching silken cloths of smoke
dance over the table
from the boiled shoe in white wine sauce.
She relented,
“Oh well dearest, my bunny of protection,
my blooming cabbage, maybe next time”