Countdown ignored—
tucked beneath a stranger’s quilt,
like two-for-one toasted loaves
from the mountain bakery.
We stormed the daunting future
with the resolve of a fat calico cat
on her fifteenth birthday.
Your mask, your phone,
glowing, poised for battle—
until the staggered,
slurried purr of my breathing
heralded the end.
No champagne, no confetti—
only pillow.
— ©Rick Baldwin
