It was a phenomena when his wife stopped talking altogether
and in stead of making him her black burned meatballs
she just stared as if she had seen enlightenment or a ghost down the road.
People were surprised and called her holy, they only whispered in her presence.
When after a month she still sat there in silence
without touching her tea nor her Weetabix, her stout, her gin and tonic, her muffins, her duretics,
they worshipped her for this miracle of complete abstraction
as she was holy no doubt and people claimed they were healed by her stare.
Then this snotty boy from across the street noticed
how she was falling apart, smelled like a dead rat
and was it not a bit odd
that she had not taken a breath for thirty days?
Thank God the priest who came by every day
took the little pest home
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