You smoke the chops.

I nuke the broccoli

set the patio table

thankful for the gray-cloud respite,

tardy break from late-summer heat.

*

You make a face

when I sip my merlot

after rescuing a wayward fly

from the brink of napa’s plump tannins,

its claret-smooth glide.

*

We plot vacation options

ponder post-retirement timelines

laugh as puppy patrols

the perimeter path

along our black wrought iron fence.

*

You close up shop,

turn off the propane.

We debate the story arc

of Mindhunter on Netflix

we’re eager to resume.

*

We call for Coco,

I crank down the umbrella.

Dusk at this hour, still several weeks away.

You grab the peppermill.

Tummies full, we head back inside.