Broken shards of glass all over the tiled floor.
The man walked over them too numb to notice.
He remembered best the morning time;
Boistrous singing from the shower
that would not be ignored, butchering songs of the greats.
And her waking him up, asking why he drank all the OJ
even though they both knew it wasn't him.
Now he finds he'd give anything
to hear her awful singing, her begging for orange juice
than for her to be gone.
Silently now he picks up the shards of glass
that once made up his television screen.
Which he broke when he heard the cold tone
in the anchor's voice, the hollow words used
to break the news to the world
of the greatest loss yet known.
The loss of the person that meant everything to him
who just became the latest human interest story.
(And now, in other news...)
~EGB