The words of the song in my heart do chime,
“Time after time, I tell myself that I’m
so lucky to be loving you,”
and I’m that lucky guy, through and through
and now I’m telling you.
Twenty-one years today — honey moon,
jogging Vancouver, running Banff, hiking
Lake Louise,
you couldn’t do more to please.
We were so taken with Canada, we ran
to Winnipeg’s concert in the park
and stopped for the Phantom and
The Mouse Trap and Crazy For You,
twice it was so nice, in Toronto
and that I am, so crazy for you,
my dear, dear Chris.
Life has been bliss.
You lifted me from a crisis
and helped me get through
that which I did miss,
because you knew, oh, yes, you knew
and for that I will be forever
indebted to you,
and I offer you this kiss
for twenty-one years of jogging,
cycling, backpacking, camping,
hiking, kayaking, admiring you
as a corporate executive,
cherishing your mixed media
sculptures, cheering your
art awards, caring for our
four Chocolate Labs and on
and on and on.

Those last lines sound so prosaic,
but you are all poetry to me,
so, I end where I began —
“I only know what I know.
The passing years will show
you’ve kept my love so young, so new.”
So, my dear, beautiful Chris,
happy 21st. anniversary, to you.

It’s not good to start a poem
by looking at the clock,
tick tock, tick tock.

Time is supposed to fly by,
but here I sit wondering why
oh, why.

Perhaps, I should just shut down
the computer instead of sit and frown
at clouds gathering for a pour down.

Oh, my, there is the UP guy driving by.
I hope he will stop back by
with the new pair of shoes
I ordered and can’t wait to try.

Here he comes up the drive way
with shoe box in hand.
If you’ll excuse me, I have
a new plan.

Shoes fit, no return and no hassle;
they look good, casual without a tassel.

So here I sit wearing my new shoes
reading some poetry
by a poet making news
while I haven’t been struck by a muse.

There’s no rhyme, meter, no metaphor.
I don’t know why she’s making news,
and I’m not going to read her anymore.