Evenings

I arrived home this afternoon
to find you already back from the park.
I showered with our playful little girl
while you made my dinner.

Refreshed, I ate from a plate you had washed,
in a lounge you had cleaned,
while you turned town her bed
and warmed her milk.

As she drank, I watered our patchwork lawn
and the applause of flowers you had potted.
Then later, behind the curtains
I read her the tale of the nutbrown rabbit,
as you talked to the TV and marked my papers.

The sun bowed, the cool air came in.
I tapped in my numbers, as you stretched out.

And then we were together.
You reclined in the easy chair
and I hunched on the sofa,
over a notepad, straining to see
in the dim light of our evening.