jack_miller

Those Ruby Drops (Part I)

I wash my hands of the entire ordeal.
I can still see the swirls of red circling down the drain,
the rich red so deeply contrasting the porcelain white of the sink.
No matter how much I scrub,
I still find maroon stained hands.
Unable to hide my sin,
my ultimate transgression.
The fingernails I recall,
the most difficult place to remove such sins.
Tedious work,
however, eerily rewarding.
The task at "hand" complete.
I stare into the mirror,
locking eyes with that monster,
something less than a man,
something more of a man.

Ach, the collar!
How did those telltale ruby drops,
sully that once pristine collar?
I curse myself!
I curse the drops!
I curse the source of the drops!
I calm.
I've after all done quite enough to that source of those ruby drops.
Quite enough.

The shirt must be discarded.
I'll not be undone by such a minor oversight.
It is after all the little things,
The down fall of us.

The wastebasket,
and now the source of new frustrations, matches.
Never quite where I left them.
She never could leave things where I put them.
I'd ask her, but not expect much of a reply.
At this a slight smile appears only in the right corner of my mouth.
Almost indescribable.


2009 Allen R. Henson SP