He said what’s for dinner? She said what would you like? Would you like scallops? He said what’s for dinner? She said beans, I’m sorry that’s how it is. He said not for me. He said what’s for dinner? She said pizza. She said scampi. She said spaghetti. She said cold tea. She said old macaroni. She said anything, anything you want. She said too much destruction, skirts too short, bras that bind, painted faces. She said lips scrubbed clean, eyes you could kiss. She said grapefruit. She said what do you want? He said what’s for dinner.
She said too many old friends. She said nothing matters. She said I am growing old. She said I am afraid. She said do not hurt me. She said I fear I will freeze. She said telephone, banks, school insurance, time plans, condos, homes in the country. She said I am growing old. She said nothing matters.
He said, of course, everything matters. She said you lie in your actions, I am sick of your words. She laughed, telling him she wanted no more empty promises, no more dry rain. She laughed, he did not hear her. Her laughter was much too dry.