Choosing Him

     This was another of those times when I knew a poem was inside me, but I didn't know what it was about. As it happens, it was a love poem. We went out on a date last night, but pizza is not usually my food of inspiration. Chocolate? Maybe. I feel like I should save this for our anniversary or his birthday, but I haven't posted anything for a while and this is all I've got.

Choosing Him

He was not the man of my dreams,

but of my waking

my own choosing,

my conscious commitment

to link my life with his.

 

He is not very romantic.

Most of the time, 

if I want flowers, I buy them.

But he has never forgotten my birthday,

Mother’s Day, or Christmas gifts.

 

I will never come home to 

 a surprise:  party, dinner,

vacation plans or new clothes.

He only has a vague impression

of my size--for which I am grateful.

 

We don’t have mutual interests,

beyond our family and travel.

Music—I’m a little bit country

he’s still 70’s rock and roll.

What we have in common is love.

 

 I tease him often, but 

 I respect him always,

more than any man on earth.

And if I could choose any of them,

I would choose him again.

 

Naturally, he has his flaws,

he works too much, procrastinates,

wears stained, torn clothes,

has questionable taste in some areas,

especially, his taste in wives.

 

But I can hardly find fault with that.

A woman can always tell

when a man is honorable

and she never gets over the honor

of him choosing her.

 

4/23/21