3 birds 1 suicide

She dragged from her bed,
sagged to the kitchen.
She sighed at the cat,
then sat with her flakes.

She had a headache
(always did lately).
It just never stopped.
So (flakes flushed) she dressed.

She moved in Dad’s house
after mamma died –
left her life (friends, job)
to cook, scrub, keep up
appearances while
he played, jeered, ignored
(like Earth’s turning or
leaves falling or death’s
shocking constancy
go mostly ignored).

She started her car
inside the garage.
Relaxed she waited.
Gas and time ran out.

Mike came in the front
dropped off after darts.
No smell of supper . . . .
(Right. No smell at all.

No reason to think
his cat might be dead
on the cool tile floor
or that his whole house
could still be filled by
lingering poison.)
Reclined he waited
watching loud TV.
His breath fell silent,
expired. The phone rang.