Richard James didn’t
care much for his wife.
Sure, he liked her when
she was fresh, young, and ripe.
He liked her when
she had no voice,
and when she cleaned his
and when she kept the children quiet.
But these present days were poles apart
from the moist tart she used to be.
Richard James just didn’t think
she was pliable enough for him now.
Gravity had gotten the best of her.
Feminism ruined her skin.
She kept leaving to meet her friends
for coffee, like some yuppie
Aristocrat who needed a name.
He wasn’t about to play some
attention game with her.
Especially when that young thing at
his office wears those low-cut
blouses for the Monday night meetings.
That sugar-bottom makes him feel like a King.
Molly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw.