when we lived without

air conditioning in the house,

the days when we owned

The Restaurant and it

sucked up all our energy,

daylight, and dreams and

coming home exhausted,

we crawled up the stairs into

our windy beds where 

the ceiling fans swirled through

the night and we lay between hot sheets 

after schlepping beer and schmoozing

customers, settling arguments between

steamed cooks and pouty waitresses, sweeping,

mopping, washing, and counting the coins, 

rolling the silverware, scrubbing the pots, 

laughing at jokes and talking 

and talking and talking and walking 

and walking and walking around 

dining room, kitchen, dish room, biergarten, 

locking the doors, feeding the cat, taking out 

the trash; all the time wondering where the

years had gone and what would our children,

working at our pressure-cooked sides, 

remember of their exhausted youth, 

in laughter and in tears, 

in blisters and in burns.

Image CC BY-SA 2.0 "Gas Stove Burner" by Steven Depolo