Through the Garden

 

He walked into the

yard, shaky on his

feet, blood pouring

from his nose,

staining his shirt,

another fight.

 

She rolled her eyes

at him.  He snorted

and spit blood into the

grassy yard.

“Never going to learn,

are you,” she said.

 

He shuffled passed her,

and started up the steps

towards the back door.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said,

“This time you get the hose.”

He stopped on the stairs.

 

He turned around and

looked at her, through

his stinging eyes.

“I was defending your honor,”

he said in between bloody sniffles.

She put her hands on her hips.

 

“My honor is just fine and I don’t

need you rushing off to fight

every time you imagine my

integrity is being besmirched,” she

scolded.

 

He stood there on the stairs.

Bleeding.

Sniffling.

“I have to keep you safe,” he said.

He looked at her through his bruised

and swelling eyes.

 

“No. No you don’t, idiot,” she said,

“In fact, I don’t think we should be together

any more. I’m so tired of your fake

bravado and mis-intentioned valor.

It’s dumb. So please leave.” 

 

“But baby. I do it for you, for us,” he said.

“No,” she said, “you do it for you. Like

the bear wrestling, the oil company take-overs,

the self-indulgent hockey games. It’s all

about you, not me. Please just go.”

 

He shuffled reluctantly on the stairs.

He spit more blood onto the lawn.

She sighed with disgust.

“Fine. I’ll go. But you’ll be sorry,”

he said.

 

“I’m already sorry. Sorry I ever met

you,” she said.

He started to shuffle back

through the yard, heading for the garden,

“Stay out of the sunflowers,” she yelled.

But he traipsed on through them.

 

“Idiot,” she muttered.