Grimbeau

She

coughed a cough someone could hear

grabbed and kissed the solid air,

looked into the Frigidaire,

and put away the butter.

He

folded up his underwear,

placed them neatly on a chair,

washed his ears, his nose, his stare,

and went off to play Mah Jong

They

felt the need to disappear,

not another fucking year,

like the last yet more severe,

once they had a future.

That

was a thought that got too near,

pledge to not give in to fear,

get the fuck right out of here,

find a warmer climate

It

is just the time of year,

the fallen apple, the prickly pear

far’s too far, near’s too near

the reason of the season