Overcast and cool.
Leaves in the yard.
We decided to go out back
among the tall hedgerows to rake and bag the leaves.
You said, in a very sexy voice,
“We’re out of garbage bags.”
And in your shrugging I might have seen
your breasts move,
Had they not been covered by
your fleece sweatshirt,
your work shirt,
and your T-shirt.
“Well, I’m going in,” you said.
Later, we heated up Dinty Moore beef stew
and then you went to bed.
I watched half a Jason Bourne movie.
Did I say orgy?
Sorry, my mind wandered.
I meant yard work.
by John Kenney /via https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/11/12/love-poems-for-married-people