Tonight would have been fun, different.
We would have sat outside on the deck
under the string of soft yellow lights
substituting for stars,
and watched the hummingbirds quarrel
I would have thanked you so much
for the day you spent working so hard
to put a small roof over the table
where we can sit now even when it rains.
Adding that roof was something
I always wanted to do,
and you would’ve known how much
I wanted to sit outside last Saturday
when the temperature would have
melted ice cream slower
than any day in the past month.
So you came home with a surprise of lumber
in the truck we would have bought together
after we decided we needed a four-wheel drive,
and you measured, sawed and hammered
while I made lunch and then the dinner
we would have eaten together
on this deck we built a million years ago
when we believed a night like this
would have been just one of thousands.