We learned our lesson—
   “planning” is a four-letter word
   disguised with extra letters

   to hide its *evil* intent.

Lately,
   our best-laid plans
   ended in missed connections,
              Coal emergencies,
               missed reunions,
                   rain delays,
           baseball heartbreak,
       and calendar cross-outs.

But here we go again,
    tentatively typing,
    carefully considering (Not Booking!)
    that maybe,
    just maybe,
    we could manage a flight
    to Minneapolis in August

    to catch Tigers @ Twins.

Flights booked? Too Risky.

Hotel confirmed? Far Too Daring.

Those can wait until we’ve survived July.

Date night dinners in July?

Downright scandalous, given our track record.

Still—
      I’ll try again if you will.

We’ll sacrifice a restaurant reservation
      to the date-night gods,
      light a candle for Coal’s digestion,
      wear lucky socks for the Braves bullpen,

      and dare to whisper “schedule” under our breath.

But softly.

Very, very softly.

Like… _Jenga softly_.

July’s got 17 chances to break the cycle,
       restore our reputation,
       and prove we’re capable
       of sitting across a table,

       not just trading emojis.

So here’s to hoping—
   with flights on standby,
   plans penciled in lightly,
   and laughter on speed dial—

August: Hear Our Plea.

July: Smile kindly
      on our desperate attempts

      to (not) plan.