Tuesday Afternoon Poem by Jeffrey Philip Clegg

Your glare at me seems to have
a million meanings -
none of them good,
yet they all revolve around the
same cycle of life.
As we listen to
The Moody Blues,
your eyes ask,
Why are you looking at me
so funny?

After you find the
crumpled bag in the trash,
your piercing stare asks,
Why did you eat all the
Doritos, you pig?
And speaking of trash,
your seemingly malicious,
yet unspoken
queries continue,
Why the hell haven't you
taken it out yet?
I've told you a thousand times,
The garbage man picks up on
Wednesday mornings!

I try to disappear
into the couch,
like a cornered mouse,
buying time while
plotting to dart out from the
approaching claws of a cat.
Your eyes scream
that the remote control,
located inches away from my
now withdrawing fingers,
is more important to me than
you are.

Your look continues
with the complaint that
I was like a dead fish
in bed last night.
Oh my God, I think,
Here comes the
once-a-month
'Our love life sucks'
lecture.

Just as I begin believing my
'I'm just a selfish,
incompetent boob'
theory,
I remember,
and say to myself,
for the hundredth time,

She's having:

'A Kotex Moment'.