She will spot the littlest drop of
his cologne on her polished floor.
When her husband arrives, she would suggest
that the floor be covered in vinyl resembling
wood (like the halls of her university days)
unlike the mirror floor of their suburban home.
After work, her husband is too tired to
notice the floor and her reflection thereon.
Before her husband leaves for work,
she makes sure he’s got his watch on.
The kids have flown.
The TV shows reruns.
She will sit by the window and witness
the neighbors pass her by,
one show after another before
sign off, nothing being new.
She convinces herself that she must
start a conversation before her husband
effectuates the contract.
She could talk about the floor again,
turn his eyes there to behold the
stain that had become permanent and
perhaps do something about it.
September 14, 2009