How could anyone
possibly forget
an inquisitive hummingbird
who ignored the purple butterfly bush
and the orange trumpet vine

to hover briefly

underneath a broken backyard umbrella
with strings of multicolored
origami cranes, tangled and torn
yet somehow still tantalizing
in a gentle morning breeze

unless it was someone
preoccupied with clouds
arranging half a bag of frozen corn
and ice in a zippered bag
around a sprained ankle
elevated by two pillows
that didn't match

on a lawn chair half eaten by squirrels
that has certainly seen better days;
mid-morning coffee spills on a book
balanced precariously on shoes sitting
in grass that needed to be cut.

It was almost light
20 minutes after she had woken him
five minutes after he had caught his breath

He thought he should mention
that this was the day he would take her car for an oil change
Later, she whispered (eyes closed)
later, he agreed, rolling over

It was almost noon
she was curled up next to him, sideways
almost perpendicular

He chose that moment to bring up a faucet that probably needed to be placed
but not right now, she said, lazily tracing his knees
no, he agreed, not right now

It was almost dusk
he was walking out of the shower, but she was still in bed
partially wrapped in a tangle of sheets

Please don't mention the yardwork she purred,
as she pulled the towel from his waist

He did have a numbered list in his head.
Cutting the grass was not on it.

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