I thought as I walk along the trail
He will run ahead in red shorts and black socks
He will leave those same black socks in the middle
of the floor with his underwear and
he will say it's his method
This man who will not clean after he cooks, but will cook,
is my husband.
He will drink "good" tequila and then scoff at the news,
correcting its absurdities.
I will get tired and he will wait on me.
He will be sweaty and smiling and ready to kiss
Because I am his wife, I will kiss him back.
We will have dinner
He will cook and I will clean the counter
In the evening I will move aside those
socks with my toes and take care not
to knock those red shorts off the door knob.
I will look into his eyes and ask myself: why
on earth did you marry me
I will kiss him again, looking for the answer
I will fall asleep in his arms
musing with a smile:
I am this man's wife.