Can you hold that?

I may not be able to speak for the rest of you
spouses of bookish young men
smudged with cadmium
and disheveled,
but it would seem to me
wearying to recline finally,
feet swollen and aching from the day's labors,
only to hear those four words,
four dreadful and dreaded words,
whispered from across the sofa,
or parlor,
or bedroom,
or table,
which seem to imply
that your reverie is not your own,
but your static sinews are now fodder
for the flights, frustrations, scrubbing and swearing
of that cadmium smudged and disheveled
bookish young man
to whom you swore for what remains of your life
virtuous patience and love
but above all,
it would seem now,
patience.