Poetry Thursday: To Stuart

To Stuart

(after Marvin Bell's "To Dorothy")

You don't love me, exactly.
you love me inexactly.
You let my toad lilies grow
by the air conditioning unit and the
recyclables pile by the door.
And sometimes,
in the ever-more-personal quiet
of our daily nights,
you even tell me it's all right.

You said it yourself, and it seemed true:
"I try to improve things."
But it's not true. Without you,
things would be more than unimproved.
The fans wouldn't turn, nor the kitchen be a "wow."
The air wouldn't move and the tree wouldn't grow.
Someone else would have to hang the shelves.
Without you,
I would have to ask the unanswering
morning
to let me sleep.