“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m always throwing wrenches in our life.”
“Never apologize,” says he. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever been with that has her own wrenches to throw.”
Too many houses, too many cities. Norfolk, Nashville, Norfolk, New Orleans. All our cities start with ‘N’. Clank, clank bangs the wrench.
Clank. Live alone or live with me. Move me now or wait ’til Spring.
Clank. Where should we live? Should we own? Do we really need another home?
Clank. I will not, will not move for days. All of it goes, or all of it stays.
Clank. I work from home, I need a desk. I work from home, can I take your nest?
Clank. Buy a bike. Sell an Audi. Cross the bridge or take the ferry. What do we do if it rains?
Clank. What do you have? Which one is mine? Why is that we have three of these?
Clank. Here I come. Here I am. Almost, almost, together again.
One response to “Wenches throwing wrenches”
What a handful of rhyming wrenches! I suppose they are thrown in rhythmic too? 🙂