Another dead mouse
this time a homegrown victim
super-cute while live.6/19/02010
Our border terrier killed a mouse in the house on the day this poem was composed. I had seen the mouse scurrying around the kitchen earlier, but I was unable to capture it and set it free in a safe location. It ran under the oven, where I lost it. Some hours later, it must have reemerged, whereupon it met its violent end.
If Miss Willow
saw Don Orsillo,
I'm sure she'd run and hide.
whene'er he'd come near.
Especially if he offered a ride.6/15/02010
Here "Miss Willow" refers to our cat, who is extremely fearful of strangers. Don Orsillo is a guy who does television broadcasts of Red Sox games. He might be a former baseball player. Of that I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that Willow does not like to go for rides in cars.
Solo and lonely.
I miss having you with me.
My spirit's so low.6/12/02010
This must have been composed on the first day of my darling wife's vacation. She gets more vacation time from her job than I get from mine, which means that sometimes she goes away, leaving me alone for a week or so.
I love you when you're toasty.
I love you when you're cold.
I love you when you're timid.
I love you when you're bold.
I love you when you coddle
and even when you scold.
I loved when you were younger.
I'll love when you grow old.6/9/02010
Have you ever noticed?
Do you think that it's strange?
That when you say "thank you"
my response is never "you're welcome";
it's always "I love you."6/2/02010
This is true. I almost never say "you're welcome" to my darling wife. Also true is that when I'm addressing her directly, I almost never call her by her name. I call her "my love" almost all the time. It's not that I've forgotten her name, of course.