Another Husband in the Waiting Room

From the sixth floor of the surgery tower
two blocks from a frozen Lake Michigan,
I can see a small lighthouse but no boats.

The overcast lake is speckled blue and white
near shore, but far out on the horizon, it’s dark
like a new bruise before the healing begins.

After surgery, the doctor rings me to say
the lumpectomy went well, as expected,
no complications, lymph nodes seem clear.

I’ve been grading papers, watching the lake,
the lighthouse (of course, there are no boats).
I read emails and text updates to family.

The lighthouse will blink, boats or no boats.
Another husband has fallen asleep, snoring.
Another drinks iced coffee in a big puffy coat.

Ambulances wail and buses limp slowly
around the towers. The parking garages
fill and empty. Elevators are always full.

There is probably no end, given our age,
to the trips we will make to these towers,
the lighthouse. Next time, let there be boats.