Leg's split over the life time.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
My Dearest Desprate Housewives

Submitted: August 14, 2010

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Submitted: August 14, 2010

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Legs’ split over the life time.
Cheers! Red and naval embroidery for the Strolling Giants twists and jumps high.
Her perfect legs split through the air in an almost impossible projectile for the muscles,
Unless they were young and passionate about the exercise.
The crowd roars to her encouraging afford to prep the Giant’s Boys to prevail
In this manly debacle over the oval ball.
She is the Queen in the masquerade of hundreds sweating foreheads,
Including one that imagines never letting her go.
He is not on the team, more like every science’s lab volunteer.
 
10 years later, he gets her.
In the club “Virus” it is.
 She still dances;
Even though, her perfect legs could not pose the tricky split anymore.
He gets her with his fancy car and promises
To fix the blemishes to come on her sesame skins.
He is a plastic surgeon now.
And, she is fed up spending time in the kissing foolishness
With many could not give what every girl wants –
Big house, dog, cat, and bunch of kids, she could spoil
At the magical power of sawing machine stitches pink clouds together
And those become cold, she could exchange at the worldly market
For anything besides love, as she learned rather quickly.
 
3 spending years later,
 Trapped in the white brick castle
Jogging between the pregnancies and panic attacks –
Her decorator did not make the right decision about the curtains
In all 23 rooms that, for some reason, always ended up with the four walls
And couple of doors would connect the golden cages as one huge labyrinth,
 She had to wander around like the horned with anger Taurus,
Like a sick person whose throat torn apart with vomit ready to be puked,
“What am I good for?”
 
Her dreams to fly on a stage dressed in the ballroom’s attire of a lead performer
And exhibitionist of the finest movement are long gone.
The studies how to formulate the things before infinity,
She used to be good at,
 Have vanished inside a screen of her pocket calculator. 
2 plus 2 equals 4 is all she has to remember.
The rest is in the hands of well-paid bookkeeper.
He knows the best anyways.
 
The master of the home is never there.
24/7 he is stuck between the booby-rock and tummy-tuck
 Or conferencing with the other
Likes to muck the nature’s given facial pageantry. 
He is a Ghost could be reached on the office’s telecom
If she able to avoid a bimbo secretary
Who is positive; she deserves better to be the Mrs. White Castle.
Apparently, in the basement equipped
With the pink clouds stitching machine,
The magic of gold does not happen
If the Ghost is not there at all the time to press an engage pedal.
 “What am I good for?”
 She complains to him finally cornered
In a parking spot under the silky spreadsheets,
While his speedboat running out of the steam for the day.
He squirts the last drop of gasoline to pull a drawer of a nightstand
And extract the spare checkbook,
He keeps by the bed especially for this occasions.
He is only happy, it did not began with usual accusations,
He had an affair with the bimbo secretary,
Because that one seems never could find him in the office.
Good thing, Mrs. White Castle yet did not figured out,
He directed Loren to make him available to the family calls
Only if it was an emergency.
He stretches delightful smile.
“How much is it, Sweet Pie?  It is my pleasure.”
 
“What am I good for?” She cries.
To his surprise, the bay out did not flinch off her hysteria.
Agitated, he yelps thru the teeth,
“You have what every girl wants!
So, teach Nana and Bella how to make your leg’s split in the right place and right time.
Don’t you think they want what every girl does?”
She believes the argument was lost.
 
 Next 16 years, she makes sure that Nana and Bella are worthy to have
What every girl wants, until they did.
 
5 years later, she is in the hospital, pail, ill, relieved it was time to depart
 To the place her dreams were waiting for her to get started on breathing them.
Nana and Bella at her bedside infuriated,
She is going to leave the grandchildren untaught
How to get what every girl wants.
She whispers,
 “Let me go, Girls! Don’t you see?
There a ballroom dress the most beautiful white dress is waiting for me!”
They yank her arm pleading,
“Mom, wait, you did not tell us, what are we good for?”
She is not with them anymore.
She is elsewhere, neither dancing, nor dressing up were a theme.


© Copyright 2020 Veronika. All rights reserved.

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