“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.
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