Settled Love

I tell my husband to empty the kitchen garbage.
He says, I don't know what movies are playing.
He never hears what I'm saying.
I ask again, but emphasize it with just five syllables:
Take Out The Garbage,
And add a question about what that has to do with movies.
He looks up from where he's planted on the couch.
He says, What?
The garbage, I say, losing patience.
I was waiting for please, he says,
Throwing it back on me.
Please, I say, Jesus.
There it is, he says, That wasn't so hard.
He takes that small victory and rises with great effort.
And we should go see a movie, he says, Anything.
We can see a movie, I say.
He moves slowly for effect and pulls the bag from the kitchen can.
Mister strong man.
I should have done it myself while he was watching,
To show him,
To make him think,
To put everything in my favor.
But now he's trudging outside with the garbage and advantage,
With the weight of our marriage on his side.
I close the door behind him,
Put a fresh bag in the can without waiting to asking him,
Wipe down the counter, and
Pour myself a drink.
Maybe I should have started with please.
I pull one of his beers from the refrigerator and open it,
Standing by the counter, waiting for him to return
So I can offer it with a smile,
This time.
The door opens and he comes inside
With the semblance of our settled love.

© Poem Fix 2012
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