he looks like the insurance man
you always wanted to feel safe with,
kind faced with grey hair, a traditional gold
wedding band gracing his large hands,
he leans his head back as he gazes
at the computer screen, a dead give-way
he is sporting bi-focals, as expected.
he stays late on a Friday night just
to accommodate your procrastination
over the last three years, recognizing
that if you don’t do it now, you
never will, regretting it deeply when
flood waters fill your basement,
your newly baked chocolate chip cookies
burning in the oven as you head for
high ground.
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