by Romina Ramos
It took so long I thought we would
never make it past season one.
When she said I’m not sure, it’s not
that funny, I decided then, on our first date
that she would be the Chandler
to my Monica, which is to say that
by season three, when she finally laughs
at all the right parts, and means it
I want to make her my thanksgiving
dinner with all the trimmings.
I want to bake cookies that only she
can eat, over the kitchen sink,
which to say that I’m sorry for shouting
when she spills tea on the bed
and I’m sorry if my OCD is sometimes
like living with someone who calculates
whose toast crumbs belong to who
but I’m not sorry because on the second
rewatch, season ten, episode seventeen
when she says I got off the plane before
Rachel does, I know she has the commitment
to pee on my leg in the case of a jellyfish sting.
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