Here’s my rough draft for today, Tuesday 01.25.22
The Music of Marriage
A friend of mine whose husband collects records
laments that the second floor of her house,
where her husband’s library sits alphabetized in a spare room, is sagging.
She says she has pointed out to him, as he comes in the front door
burdened with sacks of his latest album finds,
that if he were to start with the first one, his mission
being to listen to every album he owns, he would die
long before he could hope to hear the last one.
She speculated that if he were to play the albums 24/7,
never sleeping until, say, a round old age of 100,
he would likely expire somewhere around the Ws.
She says when she brought this up, he said he wished he had insomnia.
Meanwhile, she’s asked him if he could move the collection downstairs,
since the several tons of records are bowing most the floor directly above their bed.
She told him she’s developing insomnia, what with worrying about being
crushed to death, while they sleep, by the A to Z of recorded music history.
He stated the only room on the first floor large enough
to house his library is their current bedroom.
She says she agreed to the swap.
Her husband, she sighs, is ecstatic about this plan.
Their future bedroom is smaller than the room downstairs.
Hence, she says, her husband is building more shelving units,
happily talking about all the space he’ll have
to further expand his ever-burgeoning collection.