Mrs. X, her name was strange and long,
broke one night out of her dingy, foul-smelling
second floor room
and proceeded to throw all manner of things
eggs, tomatoes, dirty glasses and finally a chair
at her husband, hiding in the vestibule below

till, exhausted
she collapsed on the top stair and wept
and her husband nodded knowingly
and called the cops

the landlord fat and short but a fighter
helped to drag her, legs banging, down the stairs

they took her to the hospital
or a prison with some other name

the egg stain stayed on the wall for weeks
but Mrs. X, her name was strange and long,
never passed that way again.

~ Melodie Corrigall

Originally published in: West Coast Review

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