Friday came easy—
            Mari,
            Coal,
              me,
               B,

       all of us settling
       into the same little patch of weekend.

Saturday took us to the Chattahoochie,
         Coal giving Orca undue bravery,
         while B and Mari gave her that first taste of the river.

Sunday belonged to Orca and me—
                          lazy,
                         quiet,
      doing absolutely nothing
   with impressive consistency.

No Mari,
   just a day allowed
        to stay a day.

Then Monday arrived,
     marvelous without making
       a big production of it.

Shark Week beginning.
Buckhead Restaurant Week on the menu.

Clark’s Steakhouse—
        finally moved from

       _a place we’ve both been wanting to try_

        to

       _a place we did._

Lovely steak,
       the kind of dinner
       that makes waiting this long

       feel a little silly.

Then Craig,
     apparently head of dessert enforcement,
     forced a cheesecake upon Mari as we left.

Not suggested,
    not offered,

    Cheesecake: mandatory.

Monday still had room.

Irby’s next—
       Doug,
       Brit,
   the crew,

   all of us shooting the shit
   while the night took its time
            deciding when to end.

Around midnight, Mari’s Lyft arrived.

One absolutely lovely kiss—
    the kind that doesn’t ask
          for a better ending.

Then she was off.

Except Monday still wasn’t finished.

A few last messages—
         some recap,
     some goodnight,
    somebody saying

    she’s obsessed with me.

And now Tuesday
    carries a strong hint
    that tonight might have Mari in it, too.

No promises, just hoping.

On paper:
         friends,
            dogs,
         a river,
    one lazy day,
           steak,
    mandatory cheesecake,
    Irby’s,
    a midnight kiss,
    one last message.

Doesn’t sound like much.

From where I’m sitting—
              not much,

     just Heaven all around,
     with a strong little hint of more tonight.