Rudi in bed, at home, safe,
a wounded leg, and I’m glad,
I confess, no more leaving
home for a few weeks, not
being alone by myself
Listening to him whistling,
talking on the cell-phone,
advising his colleagues,
dealing with conflicts, so
glad he’s here
Lunch, sitting with him,
such fun, he’s cutting
vegetables explaining
how he wants the meat
done for dinner tonight
I refuse, I’m cooking, I’ll
do it my way or not at all,
we argue, he throws a
pillow at me, we open a
bottle of champagne
A compromise, we shall
buy take-aways, that way
both will be content,
watching TV, he’s
here with me
Life is a song, he is
the melody…
Louise Tredoux
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/life-is-a-song/
