Apple Salad

Son in crib
Singing softly
His first Doo-Wop:
"Waa Waa Waa Waa."

We think its cute
And we surrender
Our tired feet
To the bed
Where we stare
At the baby monitor
And listen to his
Fading murmers.

Long week!
And it's only
Wednesday.

Husband closes tired eyes
And I shift
From the left
To the right
And to the left again
Seeking comfort
For that growing
Belly of mine.

Two days of traveling
Have worn me out in a way
That makes my faults
Shine like Miss Hannigan's
Version of the Chrysler Building.

Just as things are starting
To look really bleak,
Perfect, Loving, Dutiful
Husband sighs, says:
I should really go
To the grocery store - 
Get something for dinner tomorrow.


Not tonight, I say.
Maybe this weekend.
And (says growing baby #2)
Maybe then we can buy 
Apples
And make a salad
With cherries
And raisins
And maybe bananas.

I look at Husband,
Who is always
Gleeful about food
And I am shocked!
He is not smiling.
He is not even a little
Excited.

It hits me,
But I can hardly believe it:
He does not like apple salad!
Over six years I have
Been married
And I did not know that
He does not like apple salad!

I say it out loud
The blasphemous words
Shooting off of my tongue
And he turns to me, sheepish:
It's not that I dislike them . . .
he stammers,
And then he drives the nail
Into his own coffin:
It's just that fruit and mayo,
he says,
well, they must be a Southern thing.

But the combination!
I hear myself say,
The apples, 
And the cherries,
And the raisins,
And the bananas  . . .
I can't even finish the description
It is too lovely to describe
In this apple-empty house
So I simply sputter
The accusation again,
Forever damning his
Credibility
As the foodie he believes himself to be:
You don't like apple salad!

He tries once again to justify
But I interrupt him
With a crowing cackle
This is just the boost I needed!
Not only is he tragically flawed
(Hallelujah!)
But there will be more
Apple salad for me!