I sit at the breakfast table
reading the morning paper,
spooning cereal, dumping coffee,
praying I never end up like this.
I am that one-armed man
in garage furnished with interest
where he spends his time
away from nagging wants.
I defend her. I defend us
no matter how defective we might be,
because even when she’s not my friend
my wife she’ll always be.
I sit at the breakfast table.
she sits across from me.