We are easy to decipher
A woman will be expressive until the day she dies
But a man will maintain his tough exterior
On all days but some.
His eyes may become dense
The day he discovers his wife is ill.
Tears held beneath wrinkled eyes may roll down his cheeks
On the day before her last.
And the very next day
He will sit in an old wooden chair.
Raising his deep blue sleeves to his chin
He will cradle his head in his hands.
And their memories will make small puddles on the floor.