Domestic

Fifteen years of marriage,
two kids, one of them
playing in the
basketball finals
tomorrow evening
(and you know
damn well we
have to be there!)
while the other
is finishing up
her Science Project
due tomorrow,
which, I freely admit,
I basically wrote for her,
and suddenly,
tonight, without
warning,
you tell me
you want a divorce?

What?
Where are you
coming from?
Why now, why tonight?
Couldn't you wait
at least, until
after the game,
after the Project?
Couldn't you wait
at least, until
my heart slows down?

Another guy?
O sweet weeping Jesus,
I cannot believe
I am listening
to this conversation:
you are in love
with another guy?
What about your
kids, you idiot hoor,
what about,
what about me?

What?
So that's all
you have to say?
You are in love
with this guy
from Mecca Carpet Designs
who drives
a rented Porsche
and dresses
like a Hollywood pimp?
Omigod, you
are - in love - with
this ... this idiot?

I don't know
what to say.

Hey, look at me,
no, I'm serious,
look at me, baby:
I have a gun
in my hands
and you know what?
I'm going
to shoot you
for the sake
of the kids, really,
and you know
what else? it's also
for your own good,
you filthy hoor,
because
I mean to say
Mecca Carpet Designs?
Un-fakkin-believable!!
I mean to say,
you leave me
you little hoor
you leave ME
I expect, I demand
you move up
you don't move down.

Mecca Carpet Designs?
No, that wasn't
nice.