‘Til Tuesday

Come evening they sit in the front room–
he with his chamomile and she has her crossword
puzzle on her lap. She swears
when she makes a mistake in ink

The phone rings from across the room.
She coughs.
He turns his head once, but
does not get up. She claims that she can tell
it is a telemarketer by the tone

“Is there any beer?”
She continues working on 23 down, not answering.
“Is there any beer?”
“There is no beer.” She writes in the answer.
“Pity.”

The clock strikes 8.
she puts down the puzzle.
“Meet you there?”
“Hmm?”
“Well it is Monday night.”
“So it is. Did you?”
“Yes, of course.”

She stands in the doorway in crimson.
She typically wears only black, but
had promised to always wear his favourite color
on Mondays.
“A new one. Silk?”
“Yes.”

After, they lie still
he on his side and she on her back
smoking. He makes a pretense of coughing.
“Your hair looks like satin in this light.”

“And you look like the boy I met on the train.”
“Was that 1989?”
“You know it was.”
“Best day ever.”
Smoke rings at the ceiling speak of it.

She sits cross-legged on the bed
while he brushes her hair. Every few strokes
he leans forward, and speaking directly into her ear,
whispering, though they are alone in the house,
“I love Mondays.”

“Did you say you bought roses?”
“Red ones, two dozen”
“Where are they?”
“I saw you were home and ran in quickly.
They must be in my car.”
She smiles. “Silly.”

She lies on her side and he on his back. She
pushes
a shock of hair off his forehead with a delicate gesture.
He closes his eyes.

“Let’s lay here until Tuesday.”

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15 thoughts on “‘Til Tuesday

  1. Thank you for revisiting and reposting. This is very beautiful, as I listened in on tender yet casual conversation on a day you just don’t want to end for these 2 endearing people. 🙂

    Like

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