Planning for the Future

My ex would imagine our future aloud,
him waving at the neighbors
with a pair of tongs, serving hot dogs
to our young sons while the baby kicked
and flung applesauce into the backyard.

I’d picture his good intentions
and red-rimmed eyes, too drunk even
to pick our children up, buying them televisions
and their own phone lines to make up for
screaming at them in the supermarket.

Ten years later I don’t have children,
but I have a backyard. I like
to sit on the patio and drink hot tea
even in summer. I take it with milk
since tasting it that way in London.

I also have a dog, stretched on his side
in the sun and having what I hope
is a happy dream. And I have you, figuring
our June bills inside, the college station
streaming classical music out the sliding door.