We’ve been married 40 years
and we eat dinner together
every night, Maisie,
except when I'm out
of town on business.
That can’t be helped
with bills and a mortgage.
But never in 40 years till
the other night did I ever
hear you say something
that stuck in my throat
like a chicken bone.
That bone is still there
and I feel it whenever we
eat dinner but never
at lunch eating alone.
So after dinner tonight
I’m packing my bags
and going to a hotel.
We can have dinner at
the diner sometime
and if the bone's not
stuck in my throat we
can kiss and make up,
provided you admit
the hairs in my nose
aren't crabgrass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem