Her eyesight was going
But her hearing was fine.
The creaks in the floorboards
She had learned to ignore in this
Drafty, whining old house;
The pip-plop of the faucet
She could put to a rhyme.
He, however, was an irritation
She could not longer bear.
The belching and farting
Was a thing to forgive,
Flatulence being a natural thing.
But his meal time habits
Had her last nerve vibrating.
He rattled his spoon around the bowl,
Clinked the ice in his glass at every sip.
Slurped loudly at his soup,
Mumbling with every breath.
Then, he would suck at his teeth.
She left the table early this night,
Scraping her chair across the floor,
Fifty years, she decided, was enough.
He never noticed her return,
Or her favorite frying pan in her hand.
Nor was he able to appreciate the
Satisfying clang as it bounced off his head,
Or the comforting thud of his body on the floor.
These days she eats alone,
But the noises will not let her be;
The skittering of mice in the walls
The tinkling of the wind chimes
And the breathing of the dogs –
A constant racket assaulting her brain,
Much like the thump of a heart,
Beating through a floor.
Written for dVerse Poets. Check them out for some incredible poets!