“The Finish Line” by Roz Levine

 

 

Our 46th wedding anniversary
And we’re sick in bed
Sick in the head
Sick of being sick
The two of us tied
To matrimonial vows
Till death do us part
Affixed to Darwinian thought
It’s called survival of the fittest
Those born to

Adjust

Adapt

Acclimate

To hoops and flares
On the rock and roll shores
Of the Galapagos Islands
With red footed boobies
Blue footed boobies
With my boobies on the sag down
But in our bed on heart to heart
We jump through hoops
Walk the trapeze line
Flame through fire
With our hands curled
Under electric blankets
My small fingers tucked tight
To the rough and tough of your hands
Because what can you say
When it’s all said and done
We made those vows
Forty-six years ago
To hang in there
In sickness and in health
To the final finish line

Roz Levine

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2010