Yvonne Alstead ripped up rummage sale
handkerchiefs and used the scraps to patch
her husband’s beloved coveralls. Dabbed
cotton balls soaked with hydrogen peroxide
on the nicks and burns plaguing his hands -
inflicted by car engines. Truck axels. Cooked
his steak on the grill, placed it before him
and cut it up as he watched Match Game
and barked, “Move your fat ass!” All until
the day he scratched “Get a life” on her list
of things to do. Sandwiched between “Scrub
kitchen floor” and “Wash and iron curtains.”
And so she did. She moved in with his brother
who made her pan-fried brook trout, left love
notes in her pockets and took her line dancing.
