For My Wife on Her Birthday

A little something I wrote quite some time ago, but nonetheless still true.

For My Wife on Her Birthday

Not many know you like I do
That sweet knowledge is mine alone
For like a pocket to a shirt
So my heart on yours is sewn
True, I sometimes forget about ketchup
And syrup and such
When I pour them on
You turn and chide me
– But never too much

For it’s when I think
(Without thinking)
That the one I like best
Likes what I like too
So, please, don’t be insulted
When I bracket the things
I like with you

Not many see the treasure
That is by my side each day
Few, indeed, know the pleasure
Of your impish teasing way.

Thirty-seven years of age
And sixteen of them with me
Three kids, two homes, four cars
An apartment on an alley
So it should be with a life
That is shared
Only we two can remember
As we celebrate together
On this joyous day in December.



A 39th Birthday Poem

A 39th Birthday Poem

Today the clocks stop
And the calendars freeze
And those chaps down in Greenwich
Can all take their ease.

Leastways, as concerning
This most recent rage
The topic? – Let’s drop it!
No more of my age.

No more to grow older
Why I simply refuse!
I have plenty things else
About which to amuse.

So remember –
As Father Time passes
   With gifts on his plate
Wrinkles and lines
   And gray hair for your pate
Just say, ‘No thank you!
  ‘I’ll not have any more.’
And know you can do it
  Check your Jack Benny lore.