loss

Is this loss

Butter husband returns home late that night, And instantly sees the smoke, His face draws dark and his mustache pulls back, Swallowing a nervous croak. He throws down his briefcase and makes for the stairs, Climbing up through the fog, It is hazy and hot and he curses his lot, Slowing from that first jog. Reaching upstairs he gasps and freezes, For what he sees is terror, There is her tanning bed on high power, Her melt the result of an error. And that is the story of the Butter family, Saved not by reason nor cross, Butter was heartbroken but all he could think, Was that yes, of course this is loss.

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