CUCKO
The last point I made before the clock struck midnight and the stupid cuckoo popped out and reminded me yet again that I was doing the right thing breaking up with you because you had no sense of class and you would always be a person who thought nothing of it to display a cuckoo clock in the living room and minded not that this type of ornament was - at the least - tacky, but especially a reflection of the demise of a psychological connection between a couple.
The cuckoo was not the problem so much as the problem was the words we exchanged while it cuckooed.
The last point I tried to make was for you. It was going to happen this time. In four days, we would get the news and the news would be what we want it to be and would change our lives and we would be happy again. The point was to make you believe that the streets we walked through tonight would be paved with gold and honey in four days. The pavement on which we strode this evening was smooth and familiar, but we would not miss it when it turned to gold. I felt myself smile as I thought of your disbelief. I handed you a shovel and asked you to bury that cuckoo clock if the phone didn't ring in four days.
W Clark