First, the chair plunged into the void, and later - the bed fell, then – my table. I wish to avoid lies. I shoved it myself. Then – the textbook, “Native speech,” the family photo, for good. Then four walls and the oven screeched. My jacket and I stayed put. Take the ring off, my darling. I’m gone, read fashion to fill your days. And you can spit in the face of the one coming to take my place. 1966 JB