the wobbly chair,
well, I fixed that chair
with a cardboard wedge
as good as new.
that holy dress,
more sacred since you patched it
with stitches like ancient runes,
an artifact of history.
We’re saving for posterity,
we’re saving for calamity,
we’re saving for a bust.
Though we’ve never known one yet,
“You never know”
my father used to say,
“There’ll be one soon you mark my words.”
But even though we eat so lean,
pare the cheese,
and nothing’s thrown,
there’s that one luxury we set no bounds,
an exorbitant expense,
when we take time to fool around
and spend our love for all its worth.
©Paul Vincent Cannon