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.