Kingdom of Jordon

He wouldn't listen.

"Don't you see,

I don't agree!"

he said.

She wailed and sobbed and howled,

tossing a soiled rag.

"You couldn't have put it better,"

she hissed.

She was obviously pissed.

He was a skinny man with a thin

wisp of chin hair, very Arab skin, brilliant

chocolate eyes and the nickname of

Flash Gordon.

She was a heavily built,  powerful woman

with hair on her face which ran in her family

from the Kingdom of Jordon.

"Ah! I see!"

she spat.

"I should write your address on toilet paper

and throw it away, it seems."

"Of course," he said as he re-lit a cigarette and blew

smoke in her face.

"You live in a world of dreams!"

and that much was true, as anyone who knew

her would say:

former marriages, divorces, new lovers, ball-and-chain

relationships, or sudden infatuations mixed with the

current hearsay,

but she always broke through whatever the cost.

"At least I'm not lost!"

she screamed in reply;

"And you're still here, and I can only guess why!"