A Slob of the First Order
He never closes a door, or a drawer.
Dirty socks, candy wrappers,
abandoned on the floor.
Tools, left lying where he used them.
Muddy footprints,
leading into the kitchen.
Crumbs everywhere
on floors, tables, chairs-
leavings of a snackaholic.
But he has a heart as big as Texas.
When trouble comes,
he's in my corner.
He carries the groceries
and massages my aching back.
Even after fifty years, he
still pulls out my chair,
if only in public.
On valentine's day,
he penned a love poem.
Yesterday, he brought me
a rose from the garden.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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