He told me his week ahead was ”light” and promised
to come over during the week to help me out.

I offered to reward him with drinks, aperitifs
and succulent dishes created with my culinary expertise.

Each day of the week I waited for him to arrive,
slaving over the stove for meals that might please him.

Monday, I had to eat all the Shrimp Fra Diavolo.
Tuesday, baked cavatelli with broccoli rabe and pancetta.

Wednesday, it was stuffed Portobello mushrooms,
garlic and olive oil linguine with eggplant rollatini.

Thursday, I ate oodles of noodles, two bowls of bouillabaisse,
and he still didn’t get here for my Chicken saltimbocca.

Will he come, won’t he come, I can’t figure him out.
I think of the Comprehension sub-test IQ question:

“Why should a promise be kept?”

On Friday, I was ready to give up and settled down
with peanut butter and grape jelly on day old raisin bread.

That’s when the doorbell rang.