A Tireade Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

A tirade

It is nearing my birthday, and I hate the thought
my wife asks me what I want, and suggests an electric bike
with three wheels: she refuses if I want a bike I have
to buy one myself.
Last year's birthday, I was invited out, and plenty of meat
washed down with beer, everyone had a good time
but I ended up settling the bill.
Sigh, and there is Christmas which I like less, this bloody
rush and intense traffic, but it is also the time
when the haves walk out in the night to feed the poor
one day is enough kindness.
The supermarket is full the noise, which makes me wobbly
I sweat run to my car and hide till she rings, she has
a trolley full.
As a child, I got a fire truck made of wood it had
four-wheel that quickly fell off, but I was a fire-man
In the corner of the living room; I also got toothpaste
and ditto brush of an elderly aunt (everyone was old
when I was a child) mother told me to say thank you.