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Wit's End


Wits’ End

 

At wits’ end with her nonexistent fat,

The laxatives concealed within her purse,

The diet books, the missing monthly curse,

He legged it, on the crest of one more spat.

Later, his mood restored to good repair

By half a dozen doubles, at the pub,

He stumbled on her, bobbing in the tub,

Her pallid lips a froth of bubbled air.

 

Two paramedics whisked her out of there

And huffed into her lungs and thumped her chest

For better than an hour, without a rest,

And saved her, only seconds from despair,

While he succumbed to self-reproach, outside,

And slunk away, and slit his throat, and died.

 

  

Peter Austin

  

Peter Austin has been published in Ariel Chart once before, and his poetry has also appeared in The Atlanta Review, Blue Unicorn, The Raintown Review, The Barefoot Muse, Able Muse, The Hypertexts and Fourteen by Fourteen, as well as in journals/magazines in Canada, the UK, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa and Israel. He is a retired Professor of English.

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