Finale for the Last Sunday Scribblings

Finale

Palm trees are sweeping
the clouds up
into piles of spilled sugar.

My husband is sitting
on the porch
listening to music

and drinking a beer.
It's 84 degrees
on this last Sunday

before Christmas.
I'm sitting inside
in the air conditioning

playing on my iPad,
trying to come up with
a poem about endings.

I see the colored lights
we have strung
along our roofline.

We'll be putting them
away soon. I see the wreath
I added sand dollars

and shells to. It will go back
in its box and slid
under the guest room bed.

I see the poinsettia
in the middle of white
petunias. I'll replace it

with something else
as soon as the holidays
are over. My husband

just finished one beer
and came in the house
to get another one,

music breezing in with him.
I go back to looking
out the window.

The palms are still cleaning
the sky. I'm still
writing this poem.

I hate to stop
because as soon as I leave
the link to it

on the Sunday Scribblings
site, that part
of my Sunday will be over.

I swallow the little lump in my throat
and, and, and...
put a period right here.