While the tv moans,
to an empty room
the scarlet
stove top
keeps dinner scalding,
as mother ruches
to change
for the occasion.

My father, 40 years today,
sits at the
perfectly set table
yet with a hint
of anticipation for
my mother to glide
through the door.

Upon her return
she models a satin,
royal blue, dress
with a zipper that
seamlessly follows
the curve of
her back

(His favorite)

He says it suits her.
But I know it's
because of the sound
the zippers teeth make
as he draws them apart
for my mother
before bed.