My Wife

-over 60 years in her body and 16 in her smile, laughs at her dog & squeals when he goes for her flying shirttail & gets her butt in his teeth instead. They rumble around the house tossing and retrieving squeaky toys.

She’s a hippie-girl from Pratt. Her hair is lighter red than it was in under grad-days and is streaked with silver. It still flows silky and long across her breasts and shoulders and I’m still in love.

Some people make a fortune in 41 years. I’m living in one.

I clear my books and writing stuff from a spot beside me on our bed and beckon with a finger. She bounces a ball, grins deep dimples at me, shakes her head, “No,” and chases the dog back into the living room.

Somewhere inside delight pushes against me and my fingers make my pen laugh.