Our tea is half finished and cool
when either of us thinks about the sugar.
But such things don’t truly matter because
he is here. It is summer. For two days in
seven he hovers lovingly, then returns to
work in the city, Monday through Friday,
to see to our apartment there, making
money to pay for this summer rental among
other bills while I miss him. And he does this
for me not knowing the rental fills with birds
waiting for Fridays when they begin to flutter,
taking to the sky as he calls from up the street
to tell me of his return.