She sat, head bent,
In her old, grey chair,
The blinds were pulled and drawn,
The shadows caught
In the gathering gloom,
But she moved not at all;
Her husband, stood by the old oak door
He’d cleared his throat to speak,
‘You wanted to see me, then,’ he said,
A pallor upon his cheek.
She knew, he thought,
She knew full well
His cheating, shiftless ways,
He’d married her more for her money
Than for her wit, her charm or grace.
She’d warned him once
She’d warned him twice,
She’d said that he made her sick,
Now he was the one who was feeling ill
As she still refused to speak.
‘I ’spect you want
Me gone,’ he said,
And waited for some response,
She sat, head bent in her favourite chair,
As he stood there, like a dunce.
‘I need some money,
A thousand pounds,
Will get me out of a fix.’
The way she sat, and stared at the floor
Meant: ‘No, I’ll give you nix.’
He mopped his forehead
With trembling hands,
The sharks were closing in,
If she didn’t come to his rescue, well,
He’d seen what they’d do to him…
‘I beg you, think
Of your own good name,’
But she wasn’t listening then,
Her face was grim, she stared at the floor,
With nothing left for him.
He went to a drawer
And took a gun,
Then held it up to his head,
‘I’d never have thought you could be so cruel
To the man who shares your bed.’
The air grew chill
In the silent room
As he let out a plaintive cry,
The shot rang out, but she didn’t move
As he fell to the floor, and died.
The doctor came,
And the police, of course,
But the wife still sat and stared,
The husband lay on the bloodstained rug
As if she’d never cared.
‘It’s very odd,’
Said the sergeant then,
But the Doctor began to laugh,
‘He’s only been dead for an hour,’ he said,
‘She’s been dead for an hour and a half.’
David Lewis Paget
