Saturday 5 August: 2pm

You stormed through the back door shouting,
“What’s with the Portuguese and parades?”

You wouldn’t apologize for the warm coffee
because it wasn’t your fault. “Twenty minutes!
Twenty!” You stood over me, arms akimbo

and I was careful not to smile too soon, which
isn’t an easy thing when I think of arms akimbo.

“I couldn’t cross the street. Had to walk
blocks just to find a gap.” So, I lifted my legs

from the coffee table and swung around while you
dropped to the couch and tucked into me, nose
brushing my neck, nostrils no longer flared and I

continued with the crossword puzzle, searching
for a 7-letter word to describe the phrase, At

this very moment. You whispered, “Perfect.”