Oh, Stanley, she said.  That's
NASty, she said when she
caught him in bed with ---
with --- she didn't know what
'it' was.  She'd been reading
the best book:  what disturbed
her:  the clank clank clank of
his oxygen bottle and the
muffled moans issuing from
under the mask --- she looked
over to his bed (they'd slept
separately for years now, the
tenderness they'd once had
stolen by age and health) and
there was this --- this --- thing.
In bed.  With her husband,
giving him the business,
leaving his imprint in his back.
It was male, she was sure of
it, whatever 'it' was.  Small.
Grey.  Slimy.  That's when she
told Stanley how nasty he was,
and then began a new chapter.

(c) 2010, Karla Dorman (7/18)