We Don't Laugh Anymore
Day by day the chasm grows wider and wider between them. They wear false masks in mixed company, their version of public life. Occasionally, they no longer camouflage their displeasure and lash out at one another like the
tormenting claws of a panther teasing its prey. Close friends still view them as a model couple. Nevertheless, their life at home has become inconsolably private. Each finds solace in an empty room. Underneath, they are unravelling. Behind the
pleasantries their eyes scan every opportunity for opposite exits. They belong to separate health clubs and work out on a regular basis. With his spear, he pricks her female essence a jab at a time within their cave of discontent. He has grown tired of
her. She stale of him. On the surface they project puppet shells to perform love's choreography while the real people are packing bags and writing their goodbyes from places of wordless despair.
"We Don't Laugh Anymore" artwork by Marcus Stanley Bausch, Jr.
[Home] [The Politician] [Sentencing
the Menace] [Entrepreneur of Ideas] [Power
Lunch] [We Don't Laugh Anymore] [The
Red Door] [Three Men Facing North] [Mall
Plan II] [Cherries in Bed] [Mob
Underground] [Flowers With A Lady]