My Geisha

It was that damn, no wax, light blue floor. That was the last atrocity, the very last straw. Spilled spoils, splattered toils, Roach Motel sadness. Soilent dust collected from a kitchen cooking madness. I said, "Sweetheart, it's over. No more. I am done." "It's time for my geisha. To be born. To become." Her books I discarded: Cosmo. and Real, Obliterating all scuff marks of boots and high heels. At the entrance to each room I posted a sign: "NO SHOES SHALL BE WORN IN THIS HOUSE OF MINE!" I said, "Sweetheart, it's over. No more. I am done." "It's time for my geisha. To be born. To become." I purchased and dressed her in costumes divine, Of gold and spun silk, a traditional line. She learned the art of walking on my back without a hitch. She fed me like an emperor and scratched my every itch. Until that rabid day I lost my lovely geisha ... To a *****! Now I'm rejected, neglected and shunned. No wife. No geisha. No body. No sun. I could have foretold the events you have read: A carpet abused unweaves its thread. Still, I must have my geisha -- To my grave I will tread....