Woman On The Verge Of Sending Husband Quietly To Hell

Your hospital face as we say goodbye
to the last of August and sandcastles. You now
a rumbling stomach with a silly haircut,
waiting for something to come
out of thin, inspirational air. Tomorrow,
              I’ll leave you
to drink cups of cold tea through a straw
on your premium quality wooden toilet seat, and pen
your autobiographical masterpiece:
Tribute To A Nonentity. But tonight,
             Hell’s still empty
except for a nightwatchman, waiting.