Timid Ebb

Nathan Smadley

So this is how the world ends
Not with a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am,
But a gurgle and a sputter,
A cowed ooze into oblivion.
A pusillanimous drip
Seeping through
A crevice in a wall…	

My wife,
She sighs and says,
"I'm sick of it all,
Sick of it all."
She sighs and concedes,
And the razor heads
Her concession,
Her profession
Of utter
Ennui.

And I
Choose not to seep,
But to ebb towards decay,
To languish
Sluggishly away.
I work a smileless 9 to 5,
Until shriveled at 65,
Then sigh,
And invite
the mitigation
of a suicide car crash.

How I envy her prowess…
To pierce life's vein
Cast-off its pain,
To revolt.
With a slit wrist.

She shrieks a silent scream
Of insurrection,
She roars against
The nuisance
Of existence,
With a razor's edge.

While I weep and wither,
Ever-ineffectual,
Inevitably enduring
Miserably,
Until I exist
Noiselessly.

Without a roar,
Without a scream,
But only a housebroken
Whimper,
At the thought of missing something
I've already forgotten.