I have things for you.
I have a cup of coffee waiting for you when you wake up and french toast.
And when you walk out the door I will hand you a joint and lunch with a little note that says ‘I Love You.’
While you are gone I will have time to tidy this little house we share and I will have time to do the laundry and hang it behind the house on the line.
The warm sun and perfect breeze will dry the contents of the clothes line and I will have time to pick the tomatoes in the garden.
You don’t like raw tomatoes, but I love you, so after I pick tomatoes, I will pick radishes, lettuce, a carrot or two and cucumbers for salad.
When your black truck pulls back into the long, gravel drive, I will have a pretty summer dress on and I will be wearing a smile to match.
And you, you will walk up the drive and the dog will chase you, and I will wait, because I have patience for you too.
At last you get to me and I have open arms, I wrap them around you as you lift me off my feet and we laugh.
The edges of my dress dance as you spin me around and tell me you don’t know how you ever lived without me.
Once dinner is done, we sit outside and practice being older. We sit in our rocking chairs and hold hands, we talk about the weather, and the dog, and I tell you about forty varieties of tomatoes and you tell me the entire history of the Lion’s defensive coaching staff and then we stare at the stars.
