If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too, et cetera, etc. – Rudyard Kipling
Like a small team I can trust.
So the wife and I
we work alone.
Together.
If you don’t talk to anybody,
you never say the wrong thing.
We stopped watching
Everybody Loves Raymond reruns
which portray the husband,
a sportswriter,
as some hapless idiot.
Maybe New Adventures of Old Christine,
I suggested.
You were a legal beagle, I remind her.
She says I talk too much.
I was a sportswriter myself.
Hurricane headed
straight to the trailer
and the Weather Channel has
a spaghetti track
with our name on it.
And my foot hurts,
looks worse than it feels
and it feels bad.
Some old trucks they just don’t get fixed right.
I feel fat
not like myself.
Some old dogs.
Fuckin’ hurricane
Our wedding anniversary, too.
Thinking I need clown shoes with airsoles.
Tomorrow.
Taking her out for a seafood dinner
Tomorrow.
First time in too long.
Comfortable footwear and a restaurant meal,
really,
does life get any better?
Wearing masks
in a town where nobody knows us.