When the lady in black
met the lady in red,
the lady in red shook her head
at the lady in black,
for she’d undone
her husband
years ago,
which the lady in black had
put off for years;
each year sharpened
this black widow—
with her prescription pillbox hat
and pencil skirt—
until she ended up
giving her old man the ax.
If only she’d taken care of him
during their honeymoon,
rather than their silver anni,
she’d be a waxing pearl
rather than a tarnishing brooch
right now.