Barbara and Gerald

He asks for forgiveness; she hands him sin. Their marriage: a traveling circus caravanning toward tornado-green sky. Over the bathroom sink, she plucks her eyebrows, wearing her come-fuck-me boots. She steps into the kitchen; he’s slumped at the table in boxers. She flips the wall switch three times. “I’m tired of hoping and having hope turn its back on me,” she says. He offers pork rinds from an open bag. She drags a chair across the yellowed linoleum. Climbs on, twists out a lightbulb. “I shouldn’t have to do this,” she says, “I shouldn’t have to do this in heels.”

 

Art Credit: Dean Hochman