You texted to see if I was “pilled up”
(my euphemism for my nighttime routine of tooth brushing, medicine swallowing, and log sawing)
No, I said, palming my pills back into the bottle
Not yet, I said, putting the glass of water back on its perch

I am not prepared for your arrival, but you are here, declining the tea I hastily brewed while you looked for parking

So this poem is over. We’re starting the next.