Still Doing It

I know something’s cooking

When you give me that look,

Your eyes appearing slightly crossed

Above your CPAP mask,

Which you start taking off,

The mask that saves you from death

By apnea but makes you look like a snorkeler

From dreamland or an escapee from a tear gas fight,

& I’m excited, but I’ve got my own gear to deal with,

Especially in winter, tugging off my socks & grappling

With my flannel pajamas & beret & scarf—

Yes, it’s that cold in here—

Because you don’t like the heat on

When you sleep & we’ve been arguing

About this since we met,

But we’re getting fired up:

I hear the farting, whooshing sound

Of air going out of the CPAP box

While I uncap the bottle of Sliquid,

Setting it on the windowsill,

Glancing at the label that says botanically infused,

Which I’ve learned means we won’t die if we get it in our mouths,

& I negotiate the physics once again of how to shove Sliquid upward

As we move around enthusiastically but carefully so as not to hurt

Your disintegrating discs & pinched nerves or my sore hip & wrecked knee

& we’re almost in place, like trapeze artists

Who’ve had an accident,

When the cat jumps up on the bed & nestles

Between my feet & I’m on top of you,

Despite my bad knee, for better aim & leverage

With one foot on its toes,

Trying to keep my meniscus from hitting the mattress

& the cat’s purring & it’s hard to concentrate

But by God we’re going to do this

& we do it—our thirty years together not exactly disappearing

Because they’re stuck on our faces—Oh hot damn hallelujah!

& I slowly roll off & we lie side by side

Asking each other are you OK?

Smiling at the ceiling, satisfied & proud

As if we’ve won a prize.

The cat, ignoring us as usual,

Licks her privates.