Fine, or not

  "I'll be fine," He says, and walks out the door.
(as I write this, I am notified—a message from Him, but not really, only a repeat, no emoji in sight)

   I think of the torn shower curtain from this morning—not just torn, but shredded, the Great Cat having ripped it apart after the long pole failed.

  I think of His tread of late, heavy and swaying like a wounded, angry, defensive beast—it is no wonder You say the ladder is coming away.

  I think of Him and me and us—