A slice of life is missing here.
Beware the table set so grand,
Carvery’s ready, but where’s our dear?
Don’t ask the wife; she’s got the upper hand.
Eclairs so sweet sit on the tray,
Feast laid out for all to see,
Gone is she who can’t repay
Hate that brewed since they had their decree.
“I‘ve prepared something special, new,”
Just listen as the wife declares,
Kind eyes hiding what is true,
Lingering tension that nobody wears.
Meat so tender, it falls off the bone,
No one asks, though they’re alone.
Open mouths enjoy the taste,
Perhaps ignoring all the haste.
Quiet thoughts dance in the air,
Restless minds begin to dare,
Suspicions grow as wine flows free,
Thinking, “Could the hostess ever be?”
Under smiles and candle glow,
Visions of a past we’d like to forgo.
Where is she who should have been,
Xeroxed life, a sin we’ve seen.
“You enjoy your meal?” the wife will ask.
Zeal hides well beneath her mask.
