bitter from sweet

The burgers sizzle on the grill
while I down swigs
of a cold beer, enjoying
the sensation;
he grimaces as his goes down –
"too bitter,"
he complains with a frown, but I
like mine that way.

Flames leap and lick
as smoke rises
and conversation flows from work
to rebuilding
the deck to next week’s grocery
list to nothing
of importance, until finally
we settle on
when we should purchase a smoker.

Though I have lost
the taste for meat, this game and fish
enthusiast
craves a new tool for preparing
his spoils – one small
purchase that polarizes how
little we have
in common. I smile, recalling
when differences
of opinion and politics
would vex me, give
me cause to second guess my vows.

But I mellow
as hair turns gray and nipples turn
south and tastes turn
to bitter from sweet – for aging
teaches that mouths
in youth too hastily speak,
and I find sustenance
in one neither poetic, nor
artistic, nor
even philosophical for
that matter, but
in one who just simply loves me.