What do men do . . .

I mean, what do men do that
women don't do - or at the
least, what women would prefer not
to do? Empty the trash? Change the oil?
Kill the spider? Clean up after the dog?
Walk the dog (in the rain, in the snow)?
Clean off the car? Call the towing company?
Carry the heavy box? Carry and position
the extension ladder? Drive -
when it is difficult - when you are tired - and the children are
tired and sticky in their seats - or you are tired and
sad and have been driving driving driving.

They chase the bats
out of the attic, the strange
badger from the back lawn, hold your
elbow when you wobble on your
heels, open the door, do not
understand the subtext (sometimes), drink from
the milk jug, want a day off from
shaving, two or three days off from shaving, forget, just like
I forget and you forget, but they
forget what you said or how you said it or your birthday or the day you met
or your wedding anniversary.

They remember, though, that
time that you were talking to their
sister and she rested against your
shoulder, they remember the real mashed
potatoes, your fingers in their hair, your total
conviction that they could do - be - conquer - still - whatever
trouble was facing them,
they remember that time that your fingers were so
thirsty for them that you did not
sleep and how you traced them beyond the
surface and held their chin just
so, just so, just so, you could see them at the very
moment when they lost themselves.