That Wednesday is the best night
for making the sex. And yes, I am in open
rebellion against the phrase love making
because like my sourdough starter
I feed our desire little bits of sexiness
throughout the week. I’m not writing love notes
on a Thursday I’m pretending our closet
is a post-game locker room and I’m slapping
your butt to say “you’ve got a nice tight end.”
And yes, Friday is the night we attend all of our children’s
sports and you might think that there is no place for sexiness
at an endless intramural sports tournament
and yes, maybe this is the night we should take a break
but after we’ve buckled all of the kids into the minivan
we have approximately twenty seconds before we get back into
the car to say just how scalding hot the nacho cheese was
at the concession stand. You know what I mean, so hot
that an inexperienced tongue might burn but after
all of these years this mouth is fireproof.
We make no concessions on Saturdays and refuse to split up
at the endless birthday parties we ferry our children to.
In the ball pit I’m making the obvious jokes and lets face it
when the balloon artist made you a snake we both knew
what each of us was thinking. Sunday, we prepare for the week
and take our children to the grocery store. There is not a
single piece of meat that doesn’t remind me of you.
Even the imitation protein with names that evoke
the afterlife remind me that I will meat you in the great Beyond.
Mondays always remind me that we will die
together and maybe this is the part of the poem where I steer
dangerously close to making love because it’s almost Wednesday. On
Tuesdays, everything is a blur, and I often come home to something
steadily evaporating in the crock pot. This week has been a slow burn
but we both know that Wednesday is tomorrow and we’ve only got
a few more boxes to check. Tomorrow we will fold the laundry and
dry the dishes. When the kids are finally asleep, you will put on your
tattered house shoes and roll the heavy trash cans
to the curb. In the moonlight the racoons will rip the trash bags apart
but baby, it’s Wednesday and tonight
no one is more animal than us.
