“Just because he’s your husband,

doesn’t mean he’s wrong.

He was right about you,

right?”

As I was about you,

with your scent,

Youth Dew,

behind your ears

and between your thighs

and your taste for kippered snacks

and the feel of silk sheets

and soft fleece

and sitting still,

just sitting

while I exhaust my self,

doing totally urgent stuff,

like trimming four and a half inches off

our plastic Dollar General shower curtain

so mold won’t grow on the edges

after five months use…

Yep! Urgent!

Until I collapse, finally,

into my recliner

right next to you

to just sit

and you reach for my hand

and I take yours

and Sunday afternoons pass

like the quarterbacks

in the football game

you suggested we watch

’cause you’re a fan too!

Nope!

I wasn’t wrong,

even though,

happily,

I’m your husband

with nothing to do

but you!