Page 33 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. IV #9
P. 33
Repair
My wife’s ex is up on the roof repointing our chimney.
I can hear him walking around up there
as I lie here in bed thinking
about the symbolism. It feels
a little like he’s walking on my grave
and a little like I’m sleeping in his. “He’s very handy,” said my wife. “He can fix
anything.” I suppose most men
would find it too emasculating to hire their wife’s ex-husband as a handyman. But I am not
most men. And I am not
the least bit handy. As for their marriage, that was something he couldn’t
fix, not after he cheated on her. And now the bricks are flying outside my window, bits of mortar
and flashing raining down as he chisels them loose. My wife is getting
out of the shower. I can hear her
humming to herself in there. Soon
she will stroll into our bedroom with
a towel around her head, her magnificent
nipples shining and a grave mischief in her eyes as she begins making love to me all morning
beneath the hammering blows.
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