A poem, or prose with an attitude:
I call myself a sad widower now,
And that’s true.
But I am also many other things.
I am defined by my faith,
And by my love of cats,
A small crepuscular species superior to
Humans. And my love of coffee,
Too, with nutmeg when available,
Is a constant part of me.
I’m a former academic,
Who often uses words like
Insouciant, and assiduously, and even
Refractory, which I am; it means
Stubborn, which some say is a virtue.
Some, whom I like to call wrong, don’t say so.
I like to read, and I like to write,
Though I have trouble making a W.
I am a former trombone player –
If I could locate a former trombone,
I might take it up again.
But I’m letting that slide for now.
I still play the guitar on occasion;
I’m not just stringing you along about that.
I’m a political moderate, which means
That I usually write in the name of
Someone who wouldn’t accept the office
If given to them. I use a gel pen,
Which is legal in thirty states,
And I vary the color depending on my
Mood. Today, I am magenta fellow.
I play chess, sometimes at knight,
And I am known for my quirky humor,
And my irrepressible wordplay,
Which is said to be a sign of intelligence.
I’m mostly the one who says that, of course.
I’m an introvert, but don’t tell anyone;
We all need as much plausible deniability
As we can afford. Can you give $5?
I know you can. But will you? Experts are divided.
I miss my beautiful Diane every day,
And I remind people whenever I can
That an awesomely cute former cheerleader
Married me. You heard me. She was stunning,
And I have a questionable haircut;
Opposites attract, they say. But wait, there’s more!
I like lettered secondary highways,
Except Highway W, of course; and also
Film noir, and classical music
(Tenors are special people)
And disco balls – I’m stayin’ alive.
I have an electric blanket now,
With an optional solar panel.
The cat likes it. Have I mentioned cats yet?
I like them. They meow and they new.
I’m good with Photoshop, though if you take away
My clone stamp tool, I lose all my strength
And become just like any other man.
So, yes, I’m sad. I get lonely, and depressed
(Everyone needs a hobby, though I also
Am learning to play bocce ball,
And I sing in the Christmas choir now)
But I am also grateful, too, when I ponder
The blessings of all the years, and the wonder
Of being loved by my sweet Diane,
And the glory of ordinary days
That we shared.
Soon now I’ll see her again; and then
The Great Felicity.
And in the meantime, there are,
In every season,
Cats.
I always thought poems had to rhyme.