Tuesday

Tuesdays are like a second date
Where she lets you hold her hand
But you still haven’t kissed
And there hasn’t been more than the passing hint of the possibility of sex
And it doesn’t bother you
Yet
It’s all possibility, promise, and potential
And none of it has been pissed away
Yet

For me
Tuesdays hold more than a passing hint of the possibility of sex
But not much more
And it does bother me
A little
But I’m married with two children under four
And on Tuesday
Other than sex with my wife
Or talking to her about anything more than what the next day will bring
Everything else still seems possible

I might be able to really look for a job
Shower
Brush my teeth
And not lose my temper with the kids

Or even better
Actually have a good time with them
Play a game
Do a science experiment
Teach them new words and concepts
Share a quiet moment
Read a story
Get outside and let them stretch their legs

Plant
Paint
Cook
Clean
Organize
And make each one into a teachable moment

Write a poem
Work on my novel

And get a job
And live in a house with a fireplace, a porch swing, and a midnight blue 1969 Camaro in the driveway
And make the world a more peaceful, poetic, and analytical place

And never have a need for first dates ever again
Whether real
Or
Not yet