Sunday afternoon
her best bud,
our dearest friend,
coming over for
a television marathon:
appetizer, a glass onion,
a ****** mystery to whet,
NFL football main course,
accompanied by her pasta bolognese,
plus a tasty choice of English after-dinner treats,
with chocolate chip cookies, candied pecans,
a platter of BBC sweet treats,
even one Viennese,
some creatures large and small,
a Victorian female most scarlet.
I proffer:
I will wear my
best pressed
bleu jeans,
my new Kit & Ace bleu sweater,
(that she bought me)
actively participating in all
activities, even keep my cussing
to a tolerable minimum,
and if asked, will gather in a taxi,
no matter it raining bitter cold.
She weighs my terms,
excepting
her acceptance:
Responding that my
dress code excessively formal,
sweatpants will be
infinitely more comfortable,
than jeans, given the intense
intensity of couched exertion.
A sole thought courses through my body:
Lord!
what a magnificent creature
you have planted in my garden.
2:09 PM
sun Jan 8
2023
