For My Wife, On Presidents’ Day

George Washington cut down a tree

but held fast to his honesty.

His father smiled and soon forgave,

for truthfulness is often brave.

I have no ax, nor need for wood.

(I’m sorry George, my teeth are good.)

I’ve lost no battles, caused no wars.

I’ve never been to Valley Forge.

I don’t pretend to understand

the inner workings of that man.

He soldiered on, despite defeat,

and held our nation’s greatest seat.

So to him now I turn my gaze,

and hope to live for better days.

I’ve made mistakes, this I admit,

and find myself in deepest shit.

My wife came upstairs, seeking sleep.

My dog was dozing at my feet.

His slobber pooled beneath his jaw,

a well-gnawed bone beside his paw.

Her hazel eyes turned fiery red

to see such filth upon her bed.

A shout, a shove–the dog ran scared.

He left behind his coarse black hair.

She turned to me and asked if I

wished for my pet to up and die?

Her bed is sacred, did I know?

Perhaps I should just pack and go.

Young George, he could not tell a lie.

I swallowed hard, for nor could I.

These are the times that try men’s souls,

when we speak truth or prove assholes.

That dog, I told her, is a creep

for waiting ’til I fell asleep

to jump so lightly I stirred not

and as such he remained uncaught

until just now, when I awoke

but you entered before I spoke.

I would have sent him off, you see,

but you are much faster than me.

She stared at me, then gave a sigh.

A tear rolled slowly from her eye,

a sign that she felt great remorse

for speaking to me with such force.

Like Washington, a man of Truth,

who cast off falsehood in his youth,

I choose to lead a guileless life.

Of course, I’m honest.  Ask my wife.

About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
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