Boots on the Porch Again

21 Squares left till the truck comes out to drive.
I cross one off each morning, then I wash the cups and wait,
Listen for the gravel, keep the porch light on late.
You said the work is loud out there,
The nights are long and cold.
I tell myself it's only days, and days grow old.
I hold the phone against my ear and count your voice in breaths,
Then the kettle sings, and I start counting down again.
Count it down in blue, in box by box,
Every crossed-off square is closer to the front door.