a brief truce

it's Friday.

is it okay if we don't argue

tonight?

i ask her.

can we

make a truce

and not talk about our

grievances

for once, spoiling

the weekend.

she puts her hands on

her hips,

and looks at my

shoes,

you're tracking mud in again,

she says.

on the clean rug,

and you forgot 

to take the trash out

last night.

and so it begins.