I’ll have two less, until the bridge arrives,
More reason not to smile for the mother-in-law.
Two hours ago, with a bottle of champagne,
‘Tis’ the season, it went down well, finished all.

Open wide, gauzed, pride, poked, clamped,
Tugged, fought, and pulled, but the pain
Didn’t leave with the victim. The pattern
Provoked of clear thought I’ve not.
Burped as naught in her face, small,
Like her dimple, covered and all.

Only could I think it, ‘pardon me.’
With her leaning back sigh, the flattering,
Blinking of her eyes, it was a good year.
The pre-pain medicine blues, it works for me now,
Undress me, slowly, slower, my mind melding her words,
But she said, “Rinse please, I shall see you again next year.”

©2007, Ron Globe