Dim light above the kitchen table,
wet wedding rings beneath ceramic coffee cups,
shod horses fidget in the aluminum gooseneck
outside before daylight.
“Are Bud and Monte comin’?”
“Nope, just you and me, Babe,” he grins
showing teeth beneath his moustache.
“Any stars?” she asks. “It’s s’posed to rain,
you know, sometime today.”
“A few holes in the clouds is all,”
as he looks up at the ceiling.
“With a little luck
we ought to make it up the hill
before it gets slick,
get the cattle down
and be home by the fire
before it gets too wet.”
After a pause and long swallow, she asks,
“You know what day it is?”
“Thursday, I think”
“Is that all?” she lets trail on her way to the sink.
“Oh, I’ll be goddamned:
Happy Valentine’s Day!”
drycrikjournal 