AND THE LIVING IS EASY.

And the living is easy,
Henderson said,
Reclining in bed,
While his pretty wife

Worked her butt off;
A bit like that Nazi lie:
Work shall make you free,
She thought,

Watching him blow
Smoke rings from his snug rest;
His hairy chest;
His balding head;

The way he spoke
In that drawl,
Like the words
Were too much effort

To get out of his mouth
And off his darn tongue,
She mused, picturing him
In her mind and dreams,

Hanging from some branch
Or tree and she free,
From want, from him,
To be, to be, to be.

Published in Poetry

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