Mr. Smith smokes his cigar contently in the backyard
For the first time in months, he does not hear Mrs. Smith
She always used to yell
The smoke would fill the pink kitchen where she cooked her roast.
The smell would creep throughout the whole cookie cutter house.
It made her dark eyes burn
It made her dull eyes water
More than their pending spilt.
Now Mrs. Smith is gone.
Dead or divorced?
What does it matter?
Mr. Smith can smoke his cigars now in peace.
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