Turning from the window, Gerald made as if to sneeze.
“Who’s allergies are these?” Ava snapped,
repenting only her apostrophe.

Was it an allergy? If so,
he wasn’t sure
precisely
what he was allergic to,
but was perfectly aware
of what annoyed his wife.

He thanked the doctor
and paid his bill in full.

It wasn’t exactly
a catastrophe,
or so he thought,
though he had a feeling that it ought to be.

He took a night job.

When his wife left the house
he came in.
When she came back
he went out
and never sneezed again.

————

M. Desmond Dahm works in a library in a nice town surrounded by some very fine mountains.