Made the bed backwards
Just to hear your laugh,
I'm in the shower pretending not to hear,
Your return, your reaction,
But my grin stretching to the bedroom.
Afterglow, After-all,
All of us need a new perspective,
From time to this time.
But our life straightforward.
Got my eyeballs ******* to the
Solid white line
That we drive along side, behind,
Safe and sound.
Even when I park my poetry illegally,
Even when the pillows face an empty white wall,
We lie beside each other,
Straight on.
Where do I get these crazy ideas?
Remember when you picked me up on the internet when
You knew me by my anonymous moniker,
Still Crazy After All These Years?
Never changed, never will cause
I be who I be...
Stop that kissing, feed me, please!
10:21am
August 24th 2013
Postscript: came home, I came out of the shower, we chatted, casually remarked, I made the bed,, she replied, yes I know, then she looked and then hee haw hee haw hee haw nonstop 3 minutes.
The Art of Bed Making
Write they say, about what you know best,
Surely in the diurnal motions,
The arc of daily commotion,
Do we not all excel?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First lets establish the fact
That
I hate making beds just as much as any man.
As chores go, it is the bottom of the
Totem Pole.
But having, unasked, once done the deed,
To surprise. And. To. Please.
(What fools men are...)
The pleasure seen upon her face,
For my pillow^ skills and arrangements,
simply extraordinaire,
I have been incredibly guilted,
Without the opposing party saying but two words
(Oh my)
into
doing my share.
With pride of craft,
Then herein I reveal the methodology
For its art, it's poetry,
Line and stanza, meter and rhyme,
The Art of Bed Making,
If properly conducted.
First remove all signs of history,
Single socks, and itinerant underwear,
If you get queasy, get the hell out of here,
It takes a real man to make a quality bed.
With hands two, brush all and any crumbs
Onto the floor
Where they belong
And for which cleaning up ain't my job.
Then straighten the sheets,
After checking for fond memories,
i.e. wet spots, stains of glory, some old n' hoary,
And using the natometer,
Ascertain if they can make it one more day.
(Strange how they almost always can!)
Next, the coverlet.
Different schools of thought have discoursed,
Whether t'is best from the bottom or the top
To commence.
Me, I am, a top man,
As in most things,
I like to work my way down,
Nice and slow.
Extend one arm fully,
With broad, gracious strokes,
De-wrinkle the top,
Sending the waves and bumps over the side,
To their special hell.
This step most crucial,
For if the prior steps done in manner superficial,
This will mask you "inner" laziness well.
Pillows.
First sniff.
Determine which is yours, and which is hers, then
Render unto Caesar
The right pillow or accept the consequences dire.
Trust me,
She says she loves
Your manly odors,
But give her the wrong pillow,
And you may be a victim of a Pearl Harbor
Sneaky Pillow Attack...
Just as you are falling asleep.
And you are at your most defenseless...
"Hers" yanked from under your head.
If your woman is genuine,
She can't have enough decorative touches,
Like 6 or 8 pillows in a la carte shapes,
Which must be presented,
Ach Zo!
But here I rebel, my artistic manly resistances
Flare,
Makes me find new combos,
To which she says, delightedly,
Oh my!
Many details I have skipped,
For your safety's sake,
For if you master bed making,
Do not be surprised,
If many wet spots and stains will follow,
Making fresh sheets,
A daily necessity.
****.
August 10th 2013