He was coming out as I was coming in. He carried a bag of trash, made his way for the trash can. He smiled and greeted me, but he didn’t mean it. He wishes he could throw me away, like the trash. But I’d like to stay, like it’s stench.
My heart finally died to logic and I hopped in the trash can. He said thank you, smashed me down so the bag would fit. He closed the lid and wheeled me to the curb. Walking away, he was suddenly taller. It’s always so easy for him.
All night, I shivered in the cold, smelling just like the week’s trash. The following morning, the garbage truck arrived and lifted me in, crushing me against the blackened banana peels and skunked beer.
I curled into a ball, my head in my hands, desperate to hide from my new surroundings. But there was no discriminating between me and all the city’s maggots. The diamonds in my ring, covered with rotten meat, still able to slice my cheek.
He will be happy, he will be happy. He will be happy, this will not be for nothing. I’ve failed as a wife; Dear God I hope I don’t fail as a martyr. He will be happy, I’ll love him forever.