#107 THE IN-BETWEEN
#107 THE IN-BETWEEN
(Americana)
She smells the meal he's cooked her,
Moment she walks through the door.
Lemon pepper roast chicken,
Full wineglass, fresh-waxed kitchen floor.
Large dining-room table, opposite ends,
His finger waves, conducts the music playing.
A few bites, she pushes food around her plate,
Gives him her bright smile, shrugs at what he's saying.
Forehead kiss, quick shoulder squeeze,
Fiercely scrubbing all the counters clean.
Whispers to the mirror "Could be worse!"
Silent mornings in the in-between.
He comes in through the back door,
They jump out, all shout "Surprise!"
He smiles and claps and laughs,
Unwraps a first edition and more ties.
Late night, kitchen table, all alone,
He sighs, sets his birthday book down.
Turns and stares out the window,
Mouth tightens slowly to a frown.
Forehead kiss, quick shoulder squeeze,
Fiercely scrubbing all the counters clean.
Scrapbook, then to flipping channels,
Long afternoons in the in-between.
Pacing in the study --
puts down his book, slams the door,
Sits at the piano, bangs out angry chords.
She's in the den -- remodeling show on screen,
Rips out and wads up pics from her magazine.
Same places on the couch -- both silent, edge of night.
He starts to speak, then stops --
in tears she whispers "It's alright."
Forehead kiss, quick shoulder squeeze,
Fiercely scrubbing all the counters clean.
Front bay window, count the lonely cars,
Empty evenings in the in-between.