Rook’s Quarry

Even on the train she didn’t miss a trick

like a rook on patrol for fantasy tidbits

she sat upright, neck elongated

flicking left, whooshing right.

The slightest movement alerted her eyes

and she honed in on the offending persona

Not one person was beneath her contempt:

high spirited children, to her   unruly

languages other than her own,

others of differing abilities       teenagers

women in loud clothes with heavy make-up,

men in groups clutching each other in raucous laughter.

Her husband huddled in a rounded heap

waiting to spring to attention at the harridan’s whim

years of nagging    third party abuse

lends him immune to her innocent quarries

Later that year    she lay dying

Turning to him she said

“I spent my entire life as the norm

to which all should conform;

eating should involve a knife and fork

skirt lengths below knee but not too far

maybe it would’ve turned out different”

and her last breath said “If you’d orgasmed me.”

Her pecked man left knowing it was all his fault.

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