Escape Artist

Well, well, so this is the way
he answers the call to come out,
sulks in his study with his thumb
up his ass waiting for a gush of
warm pity from his wife’s eyes. He plays
the role from memory, slumped in a chair,
eyes staring, fingering his chin
as if he could read signs there, signs
of the tragic hero who has been wounded
by a sword of words his wife used to
slit his disguise and reveal the man,
the husband and father with work to do,
decisions to make, a home to support.
But now he takes it on the lam,
tries to make a dramatic exit to this room
where he slumps, peeking between
his spread fingers for just one clue
that the audience appreciates the act
enough for the show to go on.