You roll over, expecting
The woman you love, to
Catch your falling arm
With her soft, feminine
Body; anxious to receive
Your late night embrace.

It takes a few seconds to
Realize that she's not there.
Calling out softly " Hon?".
No answer; this time a little
Louder, a little firmer
" Honey, you OK?" Still nothing.

Rising to a sitting position,
You try to tune your ears to any
Sound of the night that is abnormal.
The refrigerator hum, the whir
Of the alarm clock, the barking of
A neighbors dog, the usual things,
Nothing more.

Then as if were a blast of thunder,
But still soft, you hear;
"Out." Then a moment of silence,
And the rumpling of paper.
"Out." Silence. "Save, save,
Not sure." Silence.

Journeying out to the living room,
You find your AWOL souse,
Sitting in yoga position, wearing
What she went to bed in,
With Mt. Saint Helen opened,
And it's volcanic ash spewed
Around her, in a semicircle.

You sit down on the sofa,
She ignores you.
You ask with an innocent tone,
If she's OK.
She gives you that "I hate men!" look.

You've got her! You can do
Anything you want, except try
To make love to her.
She's not going to move,
Nothing's going to deter her from
Mission Impossible; she's going
To clean out HER PURSE if
It takes the rest of her life!

Looking at your own landfill
In the living room, you lean
Over her and gently kiss
The top of her head, and
Wish her good night.

She growls some obscenity at you.
As you walk back to the bedroom,
You hear "Out," Silence. "Out ....