The Patience of Husbands

Oh yes the man had to wait for me;

Sit through hours of hyperbole;

til I passed from teen to twenty;

And then to twenty-five.

My fingers always fumbling;

long legs always bumbling;

Laughing, fretting, gesturing;

Til we could see eye-to-eye.

How could I not love a man like that;

Who picks up debris that I knock flat;

waiting thru a thousand times, ‘I’ll get to that’;

until I listen instead of speak.

(But let’s be honest here: he’s still waiting for that.)

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