The Bleaching Green

I’m tired of being taken for granted, of feeding you, cleaning after you, doing your laundry and never receiving a word of thanks.

Friends and colleagues slung clichés at me – each one meaning a leopard cannot change its spots. But I had to try which is why I dressed you in linen clothes and pinned you to the bleach green. If the bleach green can lighten linen, then it can whiten your black heart.

No more cheating with other women; no more stealing from my purse for alcohol; no more lying in bed until the afternoon. No, you’ll find a job. One suitable for your skill set which will earn good money. Perhaps a gig in a pub. Just you and your guitar.

I dream of the new you – fancy duds, cash in your pocket, a bunch of flowers in your hand. A surprise outing, a meal in a restaurant, dancing until midnight. And I won’t turn into a skivvy and dress in rags.

Your three weeks is nearly up. Three days to go. So wake up. Don't die on me.

Or I’ll never know.