Kingdom of Jordan

He wouldn't listen,

that much was certain.

"Don't you see;

I don't agree!"

he said.

She wailed, and sobbed, and howled, 

tossing a soiled rag,

hitting his head.

"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, with brilliant chocolate eyes, scholarly, and

the nickname of Flash Gordon.  He tried to be fast!

She was a heavily built, powerful woman with hair on her face

which ran in her family from the Kingdom of Jordan.

She tried to be slow!

"Ah, I see!", she calmly spat,

"I should write your name on toilet paper and toss it away!"

"Of course," he rapidly said,

while re-lighting his cigarette and blowing smoke in her face, adding,

"You live in a world of dreams."

And that much was true, as most who knew her would say:

former marriages, divorces,  old lovers, new lovers, 

ball-and-chain relationships, and sudden infatuations mixed with

the current heresay, but she stayed true to herself.

"At least I'm not lost," she remarked in reply,

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

He tugged at his wisp of chin hair, smiling,

but said nothing.