Making Sense

When the street cleaners came by this morning,
you started singing that song from the Simpsons
about Mr. Snow Plow.
You insisted it was the first time you sang that song to me
but I know we had the conversation two months ago.
Five you say.
No, two I say.
Four, you say.
Three, I say.
Four you say.
Three and a half, I say.
Four you say, and then you say..
No way I would have talked about Mr. Snow plow two months ago,
it was SUMMER.
Why would I bring up SNOW plows in the summer?
But but but, I said...
I was talking about the plows in the field. Corn plows.
(You laughed and your cheeks puffed out.)
CORN PLOWS??? CORN?? PLOWS??

You sang Mr Plow again, only using CORN instead of SNOW, and your lips were wet
and I realized the conversation we had about snow plows was nothing
compared to the one we had about kissing.
Kissing and swapping spit and the reality of the niceness of it all.