Her face wrinkled as she spoke...
Splotches of yellow and grey could be but faintly perceived
Beneath silver-tinged sheen stockings...
Her feet were crossed.
The first child, now working for Goldman Sachs
flushed with a brownstone and Cadillac
but rarely more than an aseptic nod
The second child won the Westinghouse Prize last year,
a recursive algorithm and a scholarship to Yale.
Always awake when it was dark and asleep when light out...
Boy, that Circadian Rhythm...!
And as for the husband...
The one who spends twelve hours at work each day....
Two hours eating before the telly
The rest of the time yelling "Shut the f*ck up, I need to sleep!"
The plane could be felt dipping slightly to the right, as to indicate a change in direction
From the window, the patchwork greenery of the Great Plains could be seen giving way to the rogue red barreness of the Llano Estacado.
"Have you given thought of parachuting from this plane...," he asked, gesturing towards a 1,000-foot canyon. "Just one leap and you're in paradise..."
As he spoke, he recognized from the corner of his eye, the musical notes dancing across her forearm.
"Nah, I prefer trees, she said.
SHe leaned over, as if to share in a grasp of the view, nevertheless...
She put her hand around his arm
She began to stroke
And she sighed...