My wife

My wife sees me as a machine.
My joints, moods and malfunctions
are regulated
with beer
tummy rubs
and food fuel.
I hope to grow on her
and when she starts me up in the morning
years and years from now
she says, ‘come on old boy.’


My wife sees me as a horse.
My size makes me fragile
and my silence speaks volumes
to her as she leeds me
out of the house to work.
And my human qualities
are accepted
and I am happy to be led.

My wife sees me as a stranger
lingering in a parking lot.
Doing odd things that come to his ferrel mind
making him dangerous
until familiarity has her bekon him
into her warm car.


My wife sees me as a writer
and that’s the best accolade I have ever had.