My early morning
cough echoes through 
our home like a
warning call.
You say the ruckus
don’t bother you none.
Neither does my
moanin’ and groanin’
or my raccoon eyes
or my haystack hair 
or my last night’s
dinner breath. 
Your earnestness is
an exercise in the
patience I lack.
Your lovin’ is 
spackle in the
holes in my wall.
Your forfeiture of
anger and aggravation
in the face of my
reckless mouth
startles the worst parts
of me into submission.
I wish I could say I wouldn’t,
but I’ll always be a
red hot, fists flyin’
son of a bitch.
Thank God it
don’t bother you none.