Their bedroom lay in perfect symmetry,
by Max Reif
A mythic stage. The double bed was flanked
on each side by a dresser, lamp and closet.
She'd spout her lines from her side, he from his.
Some trivial thing seemed always to begin it:
'How can you wear that jacket with those pants? ' —
Or, 'Can't you wear your hair all the way back? '
(His mother wore her hair all the way back.)
Annoyance soon gave way to full-blown rage.
Backing toward her closet as she shouted,
She opened it one day, for ammunition,
And started hurling purses from the shelf.
Clear, hard-plastic scored a direct hit
Upon his forehead. Down he fell, and lay
Like a crashed airplane in a lonely field.
I stood above his body. Was he dead?
Soon, though, he woke, stood up, and went to work.
That night, we all had mom's pot roast for supper.
Not a word about the morning's 'little tiff'.