“She’s My Baby” fades into “Gotta Get Up” fades into 

some beachy punk-rock anthem as we cruise down

the 11th Street Bridge.

“The dinosaur goose bridge!” we always point out.

We will order buffalo chicken pizza from Vocelli’s later but

of course we stop at Wendy’s: “two number nines (medium),

with ranch and Diet Cokes please,” because

Diet Coke tastes better from the fountain.

I brake too hard as I pull into Red, White and Blue Thrift

but green tags are on sale today

and I only have 24 coats.

We cannot miss this deal.

After spending the entirety of our minimum-wage paychecks

we drive to my apartment but use your Netflix

as we settle in for a few hours of “Jeopardy!”

We have seen all these episodes —

it is not a matter of knowing the answers, but 

remembering them. 

We are impressed with each other anyway.

We reminisce about children’s TV shows

and that episode of “Full House”

where DJ goes to a boy-girl party 

for the 10th time since I picked you up today.

At least two Diet Cokes later (from the can, not the fountain)

we are ready for bed and I know you

will sleep on the couch before you even ask.

There is not a thing in this world I am more thankful for

than us.