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“Hi, honey...I’m home”


Casting all doubt before you, I assume, your face glowing like the nightlight I still need,
having not gotten to sleep anyway....


“Good day?”


Not that you’d understand one, even if it was.... Your idea of a good day is something I don’t even wanna think about, involving - as it does - some pathetic infraction of your precious pecking order,
so freely allowing the exercise of your God-given right to humiliate.


“How are the kids?”


Lisa’s been upstairs squeezing pimples all afternoon, so the bathroom mirror looks like hell.
And, that whining bully you call your “son” hasn’t done anything specific,
but it still makes me sick to even look at him....


“I’ve had a hard day, darling - we’ve had to lay off more staff, and...guess who got the hard job?


Guess who got to play with knives &  people’s lives is much more like it - but, then...that’d be
a little too raw for you, now...wouldn’t it?  And besides, you only really like victims when
they’re already trussed-up, naked, and delivered to you on a plate...jaws gagged w/an apple,
so’s there’s no unseemly screeching, or - God forbid - talking back..

But, as for me, I’m gone....


John Henry Calvinist