Divorce sizzles,
like rain splattering summer sidewalks,
like bacon crackling on an open burner.

Divorce is a slow build up,
the friction of fault lines
pushing and pushing and pushing,
stern to sterner.

Divorce is not
quiet
nor thoughtless
as is the way we
blink without notice,
snap without plight.

Divorce is not a silent affair;
it’s Rocky against Balboa;
clenched fists and gritted teeth,
two minds both shouting fight, fight, fight.

Divorce is slow, agonizing;
like a deadly disease that crawls up your toes and
cowardly huddles, hidden in your mind.

Divorce is a battering to the ribcage;
it shakes the walls,
it plunges you into a war
where we’re all redefined.

Divorce is not
a skinned knee,
a broken elbow,
nor the loss of a goldfish hastily flushed.

When the rain turns to thunder,
And the bacon has burned,
And Rocky has fallen

divorce is the end,
quiet and

hushed.