Sauce for the Gander

The last person to bed starts the
dishwasher, locks the front door,
pulls the screen across the fireplace,
makes sure the basement lights are out
and checks the thermostat.
It’s the devil in me but on a cold
winter night, snuggled warm in bed,
the window open and register closed,
I say to my wife, ‘‘I don’t believe you
started the dishwasher,’’ and she groans
but goes to see. But her mind works too
and a few nights later she asks me, ‘‘Did
you lock the front door?’’ And being too
unsure to argue, in the cold dark,
I make the barefooted pilgrimage.