Nail-biting before the kitchen window at the sound of their car engines

opening a drawer to find among the layers of junk mail, paper clips

and lost parts of old plastic toys, the smile wife wears as if cut out

from thick card stock, ready to withstand even the longest of parties

This cat's smile, wide and veneered teeth, bared in preparation

to match the flapping white table umbrellas languishing overhead

and the hyacinth sky its short cloud wisp breaths, exhaling spring

to greet the soliders of this foreign war wife calls a garden fete

Husband's boarish bellowing laced with a chuckle makes wife cringe

talking as if nothing happened, when it has-everything has-

long pale fingers of one shaking hand run across wife's aching brow

while the other hand presses a fork into the palm, piercing

Guests watch husband's old mask lift to reveal his fractured ego

wife watches his hand touch upon the younger woman's waist

husband's unaware of the mockery love's flowers make of his games

while wife feigns that she is the bringer of festivities and bottled joy

What exactly happens beneath white umbrellas- the gardens never tell

and the irrationality of summer carries away the rumors once cemented

when the players pass GO and their pieces are put back in the box

leaving their concentrated and hurtful moves to gather so much dust