Text, narration & production © 2021 C. Kurtz.
Music: Bach, Cello Suite No.2 in D minor, minuet II.
You’ll see us on the city bus,
not that you’d care to notice us;
we’re heading for the grocery stores —
the old men everyone ignores.
Our clothes are basic and threadbare —
if no one notices, why care?;
we’re living on a tight budget
and never used a sewing kit.
Perhaps we’ll say our wives have died,
which won’t be the first time we’ve lied;
she’s since moved out and I now feel
those stories by Chris Ware are real.
We don’t wash our hair too often
and misplace our socks now and then;
we eat our evening meals alone —
we have TVs but not a phone.
The toilet paper’s always cheap —
I can’t recall a good night’s sleep;
my life’s substantially streamlined —
it’s whatever she left behind.
I really should have kept the cat
but never she’d agree to that;
that cat and I had great rapport
but they’re a hassle to care for.
Why did she leave me is the thought
I’ve had so often I’ve forgot;
it seems a dream, that long ago —
whatever’s left’s in a photo.
Two scrambled eggs will start the day
and lunch is cold cuts on a tray;
my dinners’ mostly microwaved
and bedtime’s the dessert I saved.
I can’t help but remember when
the whole world didn’t hate us men;
you’ll see us by the frozen foods
and this is how a life concludes.
My dinner jacket’s torn a bit —
where does one buy a sewing kit?;
she used to do that stuff for me
but now I’ll have to pay a fee.