Aurora Magazine 2017

B. Farbo Confessions of Adam’s Second Wife

Look, I am not talking out of school here. We both know he slammed it in the ice-box door again, while attempting to make himself a sammich. I did feel bad for him… Got the frozen peas out, got him a beer, walked him back over to his chair. Wait that is a lie. Damn ice-box beat me to it. To be frank was glad it happened. I was sick, and tired of him squishing it around at the dinner table, in front of the television, while changing the oil, or while looking for work. Left me wondering how it managed not to get all chapped. Other men would come to the edge of our garden, trying to sell me brooms, and ice-cream sandwiches, their thoughts always a mystery framed in nicely tailored chinos. When he moved his tall-boy, and that bag of thawed peas away the next morning Could see how it slept like a little snake. Staring at me, cold, and shriveled. Then he got out of his chair, groaned, scratched his apples, gave a tug on his weather vain of the obvious. Went in made him breakfast. He said all was forgiven. That was a lie. Just looking him square in the eyes, I told him to eat up. You knew, that I knew, he REALLY needed to put some god-damn pants on. It was time.

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