His eyes light up
As my trudging footsteps
Draw to a stop at the door.
Men with smoother palms than he
Are ensconced in their beds
But he quips to my lifted brow
That he was catching a late-night show,
And insists that sleep evades him.
The bags under his eyes, matching mine, hour for hour
Prove this a lie.
I clutch my arm as
My decaying bones protest the day’s stress
He seizes my bag, ignores my feeble demur
Chivvies me onto the sofa
And begins his night shift.
Eyes ajar, I watch in suspicion
As he potters about, laying the table for my midnight meal
His magic fingers and glib words have a knack
For making the day’s drab discards
Seem a winsome feast.
Copyright©Madras Courier, All Rights Reserved. You may share using our article tools. Please don't cut articles from madrascourier.com and redistribute by email, post to the web, mobile phone or social media.Please send in your feed back and comments to editor@madrascourier.com
