Slept in,
      let the laundry spin,
          cleaned a little,
               coded a lot—
    looked up and suddenly
               it was noon.

Sent you a quick voice note,
    snuck in under the wire—
        “Good Morning, Mari”
        I said, just barely,
     three minutes to spare.

Weekends aren’t really our thing,
       so I’m not expecting much—
                maybe some texts,
                maybe just your peace and quiet
                (which I’d love for you anyway).

I’ll keep to the BNB,
     duck out for Irby’s ball games—
     Rangers/Blue Jays, (Rangers fadin' fast)
     Dodgers/Padres, (both 69-53, important!)
     Braves in Cleveland,  (Braves on a tear)
     Cards hostin' Yankees. (Let’s go Cards!)

     I'll soak in every pitch today, every swing.

Tonight it’s Steelers preseason,
        Tampa Bay on the schedule,
        my eyes on the young guys,

        my head in September already.

And somewhere in the back of it all,
    the quiet hope you get
        that Tj urge—
          but if not,
  I’ll smile knowing
   you’re recharging,
             resting,
easing into your own
        good morning,
         just barely.