ago our old Volvo trekked
toward the North Woods
for our honeymoon.
I lost the car keys,
delayed our passion,
left the salami and cheese gift
from your parents
at that gas station,
forgot the take-out ribs
at that fancy restaurant.
Holding hands still,
working through
the differences no marriage
can foresee.
Thanks for your forbearance
as we made it through
the ruts of our years
just as that Volvo
bounced through the ruts
in the road to the rustic cabin,
where you, dear wife,
slid cold feet out of bed
that first morning
to light the pot-bellied stove.
Originally published on Rat's Ass Review