If only

 It’s bad that we fight— worse 

that we fight this much—

worse, much worse that we still

have those Get out of my life and don’t come back fights, 

worse because you’re as sick as a pup mauled in a dogfight, 

even worse when the fight's over

it is too soon 

to give you more pain meds, 

too late to drive your 

95 Buick Park Avenue—

ever, & it’s much, much worse,

the absolute worst really, 

when the fight ends and we say 

we are sorry 

but we don’t really mean it any more.

We can't seem to help ourselves, can we husband?

A few days of calm and then more thunder, 

lightening, that cold overnight damp. 

Both of us, lock-jawed, unyielding.

If only you could wake up laughing 

like your old self.

If only I could forgive what I must. 

If only you were not so thin, so tired. 

And I so afraid. 

If only. 

I could  be happier

that you’re home again

after a month of surgery and rehab.

Now I must close the window at bedtime.

I must turn up the heat.

I must ask, what do you want to watch, Darling?

I must help you remove your trousers.

I must kneel before you and untie your shoes.

I must fetch your robe.

I must charge your phone.

I must count out your 12 medications.

I must turn on the lamp

at 2 AM and fetch your cane.

I must wake up before sunrise 

to boil your eggs.

I must smile and lift my cheek to your lips when 

you say, Happy Valentine's Day, Beautiful.