| Jessica Wilson, continued. |
The Day the Wife 'Died'
I woke up this morning around 12 p.m.
Anthony calls me on the phone,
tells me that he's been arguing with his wife.
She's been smoking in front of him again.
Says she put the butt out on his head—well, his hat.
It would have been his head if he weren't wearing his new Derby.
She bought it for him by the way.
So he calls me telling me he's going to snap her neck like a twig,
use them as drumsticks in the future.
It was four years ago when he gave it up—smoking.
He doesn't even have the patch.
I interrupted him mid-way on the line.
I told him I have a French class to go to and hung up.
My bra and undies were laid out on my bed
and I hopped into the shower, sang "Come as You Are".
I think it's been seven years since Kurt died.
I wonder what his kid looks like.
I remember it was just an infant at the time he died.
Now there's a therapy bill—when you find out your dad shot himself
in the head and your mother used to sleep with men for money.
Rolling Stone said it was all true.
I decide to wear my new halter-top—the red one
with the shoestring back. Same old Levi's.
Lord knows no other denim feels as comfortable.
I put my boots on. Combat boots.
Dad's always asking me if I'm still wearing those things everywhere I go.
"Sure", I said. "Everyday. I call them my slippers."
I think my dad is tired of combat boots.
He was in Vietnam, of course,
A platoon leader, of course,
An expert marksman, of course,
But he never tells me any war stories. Of course!
He says I never want to know that side of him.
For the sake of the past, I guess he's right.
So now I was halfway out the door,
And Snowball's purring at my feet.
I tell her to get lost
In a baby-talk sort of way.
Then the phone rings.
Who else—Anthony calls me.
Says the "bitch made" him do it.
"You snapped her neck!?" I yelled.
"No!" he said. "I started smoking again."
Copyright © Jessica M. Wilson 2003
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