The prices of food in Norway
Are so high now, an honest
Construction worker has to

Rummage around in expired-  
Dates bins and good value
Shelves

Not to get broke on
Pay day.
I used to hate it; feeling

Poor. Now it's a sport.
Working Man vs.
System.

Thank God my father
Makes beer and wine.
He grew up in post WWII

Norway. Flee market ninja.
Never seen a credit card bill.
Chain saw samurai.

We grew up warm in winter.
Never went to bed
Hungry.

Not too many toys.
Patches on the knees of all
But our Sunday best pants.

Thank God for the high
Prices in this
Country.

They teach us to calculate.
To treat foods and things
With the respect they deserve.

Are you smelling
Me?

She laughs but
Only gently

As if not wanting
My lips and nose

Away from
Her arm

Life Herself to
Me; the pieces of

Time between the
Stopping to-

And the
Roses

Calm and pleasant,
drifts on
the misty glow,
of our
hands holding
rocking
chairs squeaking a melody
together.

It was a long day ago
singling each other out,
when we sought, together,
this crimson sunset,
this inner
calm, this pleasant
plan.

Hand in hand,
believing in our
determination to be here this day,
this night together,
so long ago. Remember,
with me, as
we sit in these
old squeaking rockers
in night glows.

She took this stagnant heart
And made it beat again
She made the rain clouds disperse
And the sun beam down on me
When she pressed her lips to mine,
for the first time
And I knew this was the start of forever