I drove us home shaking
In need of a drink. Something to calm the nerves, like brandy or JD.
All that walking on eggshells for the good part of a day.
Watching the play of a relationship conducted on a tripwire.
The slow and steady build up of ire, the furious stabbing of felt
Because nothing had sold
At our little craft sale table.
He went and bought her a small gift to make her feel better but the spikes of her aura flamed at his impertinence. At his simple desire to appease her. That was simply not enough.
An hour later she sold something for a good price. I thanked the Gods.
Then she said to him, ‘I’m not buying you anything though’ and I wanted to help him escape. Run away from the disdain. The malice, the moods, the fucking pain.
But who am I to say so I just counted down the minutes until we could pack away and escape this nightmare of a Sunday and pretend that all was ok.