Two for the Bride’s Birthday

I.

I used to wonder what it would be like 

married,

half of one show, part of a whole production.

I used to think I’d be good a good husband

accepting my role in the daily minutia on the living room carpet stage,

sometimes inconsistently lit:

routine as theater, drama as drama,

each performance garnering a different review.

II.

You look forward: skipping the paragraph for the comma,

eagerly watching the action from the third row

wishing you were holding the dagger, mistaking the death.

But today the lights are up, if only for a moment, 

and the actors are waiting for your opinion:

intermission as approval, perspective as direction.

Today’s soliloquy is tomorrow’s drive to the metro station:
trivial as flowers thrown onto the stage.