Future Perfect

In the day there are many imperfections.
The gravy, for example. She hasn’t made it as he likes
although he doesn’t say. Only a sigh tells her.
Like the sigh when his walking-boots are not to hand
and the instant when he takes a sip of tea
to find they both have sugared it.
An irritation. An impediment.
Inanimate objects interrupt his calm.

But equally
the sunlight on the fence
is warm. He finds his hand in hers
and the thought occurs
that he may have been —
one day when he looks back on it —

Helena Nelson

If you've any comments on this poem, Helena Nelson would be pleased to hear from you.