The Madness of Love

Spaghetti, Willow Trees, and Love

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Spaghetti, Willow Trees, and Love

                   My husband’s favorite restaurant makes him fuss.

                   Charlie says it’s too cramped, that it hurts his knees.

                   So I make a suggestion, which he won’t discuss

                   ‘Cause he likes how they give him extra canned cheese.


                   My husband always orders the very same thing --

                   Spaghetti Bolognese, if you please.

                   Then he waits for the waiter to bring

                   Him the dish and says, “Please, can I have more cheese?”


                   After dinner we drive in my husband’s new car,

                   One that’s sleek and red but destroys his knees.

                   Charlie's so proud of his car, but I’m glad we’re not far.

                   For as he folds in, his knees lock and freeze.


                   The moment we’re home, Charlie starts his same old refrain

                   About how the willow tree’s dying and is turning brown.

                   I nod my head and realize that arguing's in vain.

                   Charlie won't set saw to tree, 'less it falls down.


                   We settle together in the old living room/den.

                   Charlie stretches his knees, then points me to sit.

                   But his knees sure don’t need an equestrian.

                   So I kiss him, sit close, and snuggle a bit.


                   My Charlie’s no knight on a dashing, white horse.

                   He’s plain, and he’s funny and simple like spaghetti.

                   But I’m always content to sit and discourse

                   'Cause Charlie still calls me his sweet Aphrodite.




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