"I take out videos on Saturdays from the pack
of coupons I find by the console and make popcorn for the kids
in the neighborhood who don't even
put their feet on the sofa.
Right by the video is the Olson's address in France,
which I keep clean in a sort of shrine away from the butts.
I also take good care of the lawn
and ask, did Olson really mean water three times a week,
like it's on a list.
The boy who does have a list, I feed Oreos,
and we never see him, again, except once, riding his bike
and waving, while Ernie's getting
at the cracks in the driveway and scrubbing the oil spots.
For everyone else, Ernie fixes dishwashers, radiators,
computers, any of those er things
and takes nothing for it.
I have words with him as usual, but he says give,
and it will come back.
It is true we get invitations nearly daily in lieu,
and two old fridges, which we sell as if unused.
But when we visit, and when we visit,
Ernie smokes out the boy part in each husband
where the talk locks on small parts or their dad's cars.
The ladies love the dog, all grin and no bite.
It lures them off a lawn they are dressing, or even tuning
a headset makes them bend at the knees and pet it.
All I have to do is stand by that dog,
and they forgive my sundress with that pattern
and its troubles.
It is on a Friday, a big day for waving and helping,
for parading the dog and going to dinner with a sun outside so
hot in the late afternoon, the neighbors have
their blinds down, and so don't see Ernie, puttering,
and me dusting
when the phone rings.
Now, we don't answer the phone ever.
We tell people, the Olson's have a machine,
and we don't want to lose messages.
So it's just us listening, but this
is the ring we've been expecting,
Amina something saying how she looks forward
to seeing Mr. Olson on Monday.
I haven't mentioned how little the neighbors look forward
to seeing their neighbors.
I always try to stay positive.
People can feel it, but the Olson's
are so unlike us, they say.
You two are really so nice, and how did they, they wonder,
get so different?
They even suggest we rent a bungalow just blocks off
that would do so well, they say, for a couple active, like us,
so we don't have to go back to Florida,
where we live in one of those wretched old people condos.
Condos, I snort, but I let Ernie talk
just as I memorize the albums of pictures on the dresser
and can speak on them.
It is clear it is us the neighbors want,
not them, the ones who are coming.
We drop off handwritten notes at all the doors
Ernie has fixed and more, the ones who have asked for him,
but can't yet be fit in.
And we put our potato chips and tonic
I find in the basement closet.
Then we make up a sheet with surprise
across it, a twin of the one I'm making another sundress from.
All the kids come and watch what they want on video,
and all the adults clutch their last minute
repairs, small items, like clocks and candy thermometers.
And the man with the new blinking electric eye
brings the liquor that goes with the tonic.
Then the driveway is parked full,
and the car that stops across the street
and the bewildered couple who slam it shut
are the right ones to greet the silence of the hidden crowd
with the banners unfurling welcome home cousin
and, of course, our surprise.
But we don't see it.
Me and my gloves from wiping down doorknobs and Ernie
with the suitcases still quite light
settled on the street with his hand
out for the taxi that is sure to come.
Just the dog doesn't want to."
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]