She hears dead people speaking to her in her dreams and she asks <br />them to tell her about living and how to cope. As if they would know. <br />See her in the morning with her teeth out, before the glue goes on <br />and she smiles her fake smile; the one with the perfect white porcelains. <br />She likes her coffee black and with only one sugar; two when she drinks tea. <br />It helps keep her regular and her bowels functional. Life is so much constipation. <br />See her husband; he likes to sleep in late and then masturbate to images of her <br />as the girl he met when they were both so much younger than their dreams. <br />He talks mainly to himself; keeps muttering the same things like <br />“So much of life is garbage; Sweetie, keep that can of beans.” <br /> She lays his eggs and bacon out, just like his underwear; he is easily confused. <br />He needs his day mapped out for him, so he always knows where he is <br />and what pills to take before he loses his polar caps and freeze frames everything. <br />She hears dead people speaking to her in her dreams and she keeps forgetting <br />to ask them their names. So much of life is garbage and she needs to feel needed. <br />She’s a good woman for putting up with him and his over active libido. He keeps <br />muttering something to the effect; he likes her better when her teeth aren’t in… <br /> <br />2008 © T Sheridan<br /><br />Ted Sheridan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/men-don-t-marry-strippers-for-the-conversation/
