Bathroom Break

I was having a conversation with him about the economic crisis we are having in our house; the fact is we can barely afford Spaghetti-O's for our two children every night for dinner.  He constantly ignores me though every time I bring it up, either claiming the problem exists only in my mind or that there must be something more interesting to converse about other than the dilapidated cabinets that hold a box of saltines and a colony of termites.  Tonight was different though, I felt, as he was going to have to give me answers.

"Mallory got sent home from school again today," I started the conversation.
"For what now?" he replied.
"Some kid made fun of her lunch, so she punched him."
"That's my girl."
"You really don't take any of this seriously do you?"
"She defended herself, isn't that..."
"That what we want her to do?  Punch people at any sight of adversity?  Any difficulty in her life?  Well then, why doesn't she start punching you for this hell hole of a home?"
"Hell hole of a home?  Excuse me?   Who do you think you're talking to?  If it weren't for me we wouldn't be in this home."
"So what?  Where would we be?  On the street?  Oh no, perhaps the ants there are slightly kinder than the termites here."
"Ha, ha, ha," his laughs are sarcastic and deliberate, "maybe they are.  Maybe they could lend us some of their money that they pick up off the ground."
"It'd be better than what we make."
"Than what you make..." he mumbles softly.

Right then my world froze.  He just placed the blame squarely in my hands, like slop in a pig trough, waiting for me to react to his words.  He knew what he just said and he knew that it angered me, but I kept my composure for just a moment.

"And Huxley..." I began to say until I was cut off.
"What about Huxley" he butted in.
"Huxley was crying today about how he can't have Spongebob fruit snacks like everyone else."
"Again, not my fault."
"I don't see how you can keep avoiding accepting this."
"Because none of this is my fault.  I work day in and day out.  And you work half the goddamn year!  You go to school, play with kindergartners and then come home and complain.  Nag.  Nag.  Nag."  The last three words very slowly stated, as if trying to entice a swing from me.
"Don't go there you know I don't like when ..."
"Why?  Because you know it's true?" he begins to interrupt but I keep speaking.
"... you go there.  No it's not true!  Are you kidding me?"
"I make most of the money in this household,"
"Because there is nothing I can do!  It is not my fault that education does not pay its teachers..."
"You need to stop because you know that you are wrong here."
"Wrong?!  Wrong that I have a low salary for a job that is incredibly important."
"You work half a year!  You are lucky to get what you are making."
"I am not getting into this argument.  We still are flat broke regardless."
"Not regardless.  Because of this!"
"Listen, we have no money.  That is the problem."
"And it is because..." he begins to egg me on.

I literally began to turn red with anger.  I could feel my face heating up and my head start to swell with profanity.  I began sweating just a little and tried to wipe it away as quickly as it formed as to not show him that he was getting to me.

"...exactly."

I was furious at this moment, but could not even begin to formulate words appropriate to defend myself nor debunk his ignorant thoughts.  Before I could finally begin to say anything, he interrupted my thoughts.

"When you decided to put our family in financial strain, we agreed to move forward the best we could.  This is the best we can.  So stop this constant, every Tuesday night argument that I have no reason to be a part of.  Just realize that Mallory and Huxley are fine.  They are gaining character.  Life isn't easy."

He patted me on the head and walked to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Obsession

She stares at him,
It is funny to watch,
She thinks it is all lovey dovey
but it seems more like
deer in headlights
to everyone else.

She is young though,
just turning eighteen,
and he a grown man of
thirty.  She follows him
like a sheep and every
morning, like a dog,
waits by the door.

Sometimes I will tell her,
Stop waiting for him,
Stop giving in, just move forward,
He doesn't even know
your name, but she repeats his
every word and thought,
some obsessed repeating parrot.

I find it sad, but I am just a voice.
One day she will realize
that she is just a peacock
fluttering for attention
in a forest of flowers and butterflies.