stickman review

Changing Channels

by James B. Nicola

Two evenings ago, neither you nor I
got up to answer the door—the laughter
was awfully loud and, thinking on it after,
I came to the conclusion that was why
you didn’t hear the doorbell. Last night, though,
the smoke alarm. What was it you were heating,
a cup of milk, for a cup of cocoa?
You didn’t ask if I would like a cup.
Did you think I was going to get up
and fix it? Then I thought, you’re always eating
or drinking, or both. And it dawned on me
that all I had to do to save a life
one day was to remove the battery
from the stick. So now, to change the program,
you’ll have to get up. After all, I am
not anything if not a loving wife.