for amanda

she’s a sweetie pie,

peachy peach

apple of my eye.

mac and cheese,

knobby kneed

big butt to squeeze,

lovely kind of girl.

egyptology,

song bird quality.

her hands are always

cold.

she kisses warm,

and does no harm,

the world is lucky

for her charms.

she holds my hand

when i drive our car.

her touch feels

very, very good.

this poem is nice,

but cannot suffice

to say you well enough.

which is:

you’re wonderful.

and smart and true,

you pick me up when

i am blue.

keeping me seeing

even when i’m being

a grumpy old wingoo,

i’m so lucky

to be with you.

i love you dear,

my darling wife, today

and foralwaysmore.

still, i’ve got one last ask

before i let go

your curvy-wurvy spine,

“will you please,

please, please please

be my valentine?”

 

 

 

 

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rapturous

the day begins

with rockets.

ufos.

streaks of smoke

and fire lance

the sky.

rockets and ufos

on every channel.

internet rumors.

“we’re being invaded!”

“it’s the military!”

reporters say,

“no word yet on

where these ships

came from, who

is on them, or

where they’re headed.”

another crop of rockets

lift off and fire towards space.

“it does appear

that they’re all leaving

earth’s atmosphere.”

sweat beads on

the brows of the viewers.

someone says,

“they’re leaving.”

the reporter,

“we’re still waiting

for a statement from

the white house.

we’re working

to determine the

president’s whereabouts.”

“that reporter still don’t

wear a mask,”

says a viewer from

behind a mask.

“they’re leaving.”

“let ’em go.”

“i’m fine that they going,

i just don’t like

how they left the place.”

the rockets

stop leaving.

everyone wears their masks

and watch

to see what

will happen next.