of a morning, I go out
while she’s still asleep
into the freshly washed street
still wet
I bring my dog along
her dog
ours
of course
and we amble along
the dog and I
and no one can tell
who is walking whom
at any rate
we’re both retired
resting
god help us
we enter the cafe
at that time
clearly
she’s still asleep
you can see the river
the glistening oil slick
we sit down and
the waiter brings my newspaper
and biscuits
for smaller pets
one glass of red
for me
mixed with water of course
(that’s how she demands it be done,
she-who-is-still-asleep)
the dog goes away to pee
and poo
but comes back
as I read the obituaries
we’re done
there is no need for us
to hang around in a café
spring can be deceptive
one can still get a chill
therefore
we return and climb the staircase
quietly
(she is still asleep)
we unlock carefully
neither of us barks
off with my hat
my coat
my shoes
on with my slippers
I am watching her
sleep
the most important woman in the world
aged sixty one
I glance at the dog
he’s tired already
and over twenty himself
and I think to myself
now’s the time to make coffee
she likes her morning coffee
I go to the kitchen
and scold my right hand
with boiling water from the kettle
I remain quiet
as it’s my fault
go straight to the bathroom
and the medicine cabinet
rub my hand with herbal oil
we always have some in the house
just in case
then my wife
gets up
because the dog had squealed
and bandages my hand
grumbling
you stupid old man
at seventy
you stay away from
the kitchen
I look at her
breathe in her warmth
her sleepy scent
and fall in love
all over again.