An elderly couple dies within hours 
of each other. I think How Sweet!
I joke, speculate—pills? fatigue? 
the power of angry words?
Natural causes aside, seventy years seems 
unnatural, the dailyness of it—
an abstraction I can’t get my head around.

And here we are—habits, routines, 
wants, needs met and unmet,
six and a half decades a day at a time. 
Folding laundry, replenishing bananas, 
hearing aid batteries, Sunday brunches, 
the week’s news, celebrations, memorials, 
TV “remote” tug-of-wars, 
accommodation, forgiveness.

Looking into the same blue eyes
as he savors food, sucks chicken bones dry,
and so deliberately, head down, maneuvers
the walker around furniture to reach the bedside 
where I’m propped up reading.
Leans over in his sagging underwear
for a goodnight kiss. Sleep well.