What Do We Do Until We're Ready to Eat Cake?

[question asked by Terry Carter]

Your husband writes gratitude lists
on paper placemats at Southern Kitchen—
pancakes, butter knife, sobriety—
erasing an hour before the meeting.

Jesus is on there, & the Circuit Judge,
probation officer, rehab counselors,
clack-clack-clack of a Ping-Pong ball
during breaks for coffee & recreation.

Daughter, friends, pepperoni pizza,
he writes, ordered by logic
of his internal monologue.
“It’s going to be a great day,” he says,

placing happiness under the whip
of his will. A decade later:
Little Debbie, cinnamon rolls,
cake, cake, cake. I’ve met no other

who found such joy in waiting,
frosting the pause with a jumble
of words: candles, party, presents,
aging, wishing, life.