The Man Who Fell In Love with His Wife

Returning home, she bid him, “Turn around;”
The days-ago packed bag upon her arm.
He raced a rally stage through drive-time town,
An effervescent contrast to her calm.

She laughed with drag-queen voice through gas and air.
His hand in hers she very lightly pressed.
And later, sitting quietly not to stir
The new familiar stranger at her breast.

Embedded in memory, holding them both:
Moments like snapshots, he replayed the scene.
He made the same age-old paternal oath,
To be a better dad than his had been.

Then he retired with heaviness of heart
On this, their first night ever spent apart.