”why do you tell me

children’s stuff?”

his wife said

“rather tell me you’ve

sold a painting and invite

me for coffee.”

the artist/stunned at such

impertinence/disrespect/

usually a hard worker/

would he deserve this kind

of attitude?

perhaps in too much history

of an unfortunate marriage’s

rubble he’s buried under –

maybe he just lives up to his

promise he’d given her mom’

to look after her –

whatever he’ll do in the near

future she’ll not appreciate

since the days he’d lost his

job/possessions/positions/

crawling up the

rubble-mountain of a human

catastrophe

just to tumble down from

the apex of his achievements

nobody longer appreciated.

tumble.elbmut

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.