For Now

For Now

While buttering English muffin toast
from Wisconsin that we stuffed in our
luggage, we're listening to Sergio Mendes
and Brazil 66. The phone rings,

our neighbor Peggy, recently divorced
from a total jerk. She's crying,
I think her mother's in the hospital,
it all sounds jumbled. We say we'll watch
her dogs Ralph and Nemo. We have
her key and she has ours. We're the first
gay couple she has ever known, she says
often. Sometimes Steve and I feel like we're
thrift store items, things that people
point to and say, "Well, would you

look at that!" Ralph wags when he sees us
but Nemo growls like he'd gladly tear
off our arms. Peggy messages us:

Everything is fine—
for now. Yeah, pretty much as usual.
Everything, everything is for now.