At least you came home.
On your way in, you asked for dinner and
a kiss. I hesitated,
but lightly brushed my lips
against your cheek, and whispered,
“It’s on the table.”
I won’t be able to re-heat it for you
this time. The microwave is broken.
You’re never around to fix it, and I’ve
never been good at fixing things.
You can throw the dishes in the trash or
them on the sink.
There’s no water to wash your mess
tonight. The tank has dried up.
I’m off to bed. By the way,
you should take something home for dinner
tomorrow. I’ll be out shopping.
you can find this in UP Quill’s literary folio, “Sitting Amok” — 15th volume.