Migrations
Ken Pobo
Before Jerry met Jeff, he had decided that love
was a coat rack and he had no coat.
Jeff had stacked up his affairs like dirty plates,
a fairly messy life. They met in a line
at Walmart. In that rocky first year,
they argued about cabinets.
Jerry wanted open spaces, nothing stacked.
Jeff rarely threw anything away. The dining room
table grew heaps of newspapers. Once Jerry tried
to toss them out, but Jeff snarled
“I was saving those for the sports sections!”
“The games are over. Try reading Twain instead.”
They love birds. Jeff watches them on the shore
or flying when he goes fishing. Jerry never fishes.
He stays in the cabin with the binoculars
watching loons dart underwater.
Jeff gets up by 4:30 to catch the first nibbles.
When Jerry wakes up, he finds
the coffee already made,
Melitta coffee. A low-burning fire. A plate mountain
in the sink. You can’t have everything.
You drink the coffee, see the boat
through the binoculars, and stretch like a cat.