Children of
Divorce
by Michael C.
Keith
| I balanced all,
brought all to mind, The years to come seemed
wasted breath,
A waste of
breath the years behind.
–– W.B. Yeats
|
When he awoke from his
afternoon nap on the front porch, he immediately
noticed that the house was terribly askew.
“Lord, will it ever
settle down?” he groaned.
The facade was leaning at a
perilous angle and the roof pitched drastically
in a southerly direction. Meanwhile, the dormers
tipped both east and west threatening to topple.
Every door assumed its own hazardous position,
and the windows went this way and that about to
shatter.
As he stood up, he landed
on his backside, yelling “What’s up?”
“No!” shouted his
wife from below. “I’m down. You’re
up.”
“Here we go again,”
growled their landlord. “Your lease
specifies that you must keep your house in order,
and this is anything but. Look at what you’ve
done! What do you have to say for yourselves?”
“We’re sorry, but
it’s very hard to keep things straight when
we’re both from broken homes,“ replied
the distraught tenants.
|
