ENNUI

I came home from work usually.

There on the portal floor

Lay a few pieces of my wife's personality.

She had been falling apart lately

So I rushed over to examine the few loose features.

Her smiles and hugs after love

Her mouse like bites when she eats

The glassy, astral stare in her eyes.

Enamored and half insane

I pocketed the pieces and ran

Room to room sucking in details

As I passed; calling her name frantically

I followed a trail of her identity.

I found a fork in the kitchen with

Her name stuck on the end,

Some notes of her singing

Lingered in the air of the hall,

The color of her hair was wiped on the walls,

I found her independent nature in an

Envelope in the washroom with no stamp

And no return address.

I found her in the bathroom.

She had removed her eyes

Which were soaking in the sink

While she nosed the mirror and combed her transparent hair.

"What's wrong?" I queried.

"I'm sick of quick biscuits,

Eggs don't stick to the pan,

The bathroom bowl is always bright,

My cakes are always rising right

And I don't want any part of murdered vegetables!"

Had I said something wrong?

Puzzled, I turned to her.

She said, "I'm bored,"

And merged with the mirror.