This is a lovely poem by my friend, Michael.
Image: Albert Finch
I arrive home
A long day no excuses
Its always work work work.
I’m tired, I’m cranky,
I know you will be upset at yet another late night.
A note on the kitchen table says:
“Dinner in in the oven.”
To tired to care I eat
What is now a burnt offering
But I dare not complain.
I eat in silence save for the distant
Rhythms of the songster
In whose words I know you bathe.
Not for me such soothing sentiments
Having left you high and dry.
I enter the bedroom, the music plays
I cannot see you,
I feel chastened by my tardiness.
I begin to undress and feel your arms circle my neck.
Yours are caressing hands
Caring hands, loving hands
You whisper you have missed me.
The buttons on my shirt
Slip between your fingers
Your hands slide over my chest
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