Tolerable
by Michael Estabrook
Not sure if my wife
is awake yet.
I lift the sheet carefully,
gaze longingly at
the beautiful flowing female form
lying there warm and soft beside me,
her nightshirt ridden up
just high enough
for me to get a glimpse
of the pure ethereal smoothness
that makes all of life,
all the trouble, hardship,
fear and anguish, confusion
and disappointments tolerable,
when I hear, “I’m
not awake yet,”
and that’s that.