I Told You Not To Come Tonight

Because my ass was dragging    
And the sleep deprivation    
Was starting to get to me    
     
And went to bed at one a.m.    
I know, early for your old man,    
With the bed toasty and welcoming    
     
But I was hungry and couldn’t sleep    
So got up, ate some hash browns    
And sat there with the electric heater    
     
Blowing hot air caresses    
Which were comforting to me    
But nothing like your touch    
     
So I would just like to say    
That I wish you had come over    
Anyway, just to lie beside me    
     
While we spoke of the new roof    
On your house and wouldn’t it be  
Just our luck if the winds blew it off  
 
Which would segue into damn fool Climate Deniers  
Or your daughter’s new previously-owned truck    
And how it’s nearly time to take the plastic off the windows  
 
And are we having a garden this year or not  
And how lovely the Bradford Pears were today,
Blooming in the midst of a drab still-winter forest.
 
Instead I sat there regretful,  
Longing for you, which is also what    
I did for the first seventy-three years
 
Of my life, waiting for you to appear,
Waiting for you to bloom and blossom
In my old man’s drab still-winter forest.