A month ago I took a knee
While pledging my devotion to
My soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, you.
Within a week we’d reproduced;
That boy’d been barely Dr. Seussed
Before a Blue Fish to his Red
Swam out into our waterbed.
By then, of course, we’d relocated
North to where our future waited
Wetly in the witchless Salem.
Life’s heights loomed, and there we’d scale ’em!
Weeks went by, the children grew
Like Monet views of me and you,
Our portraits in Impressionistic
Style: Us, but more artistic.
Three weeks on, the nest is bare,
Though brimming with the love we share.
It hardly seems a month’s gone by
Since we made we of you and I.
It’s time to celebrate, my sweet!
The Baskin-Robbins down the street
Has flavors for each day and night
In which you’ve made my life delight.
If every day had been a year
We’d still not be remotely near
The time when I’d grow weary of
Our partnership. Thank you, my love.
An Easter anniversary
Is never on the date one thinks
(Unless one knows astronomy).
Great set-up for sit-com hi-jinks!
Anniversaries, I fear,
Are hard to count. It’s rarely clear
How many years have been amassed
Since something happened in the past.
The ordinal’s what’s problematic.
People often give me static
When I say, “You’re nine today?
Well, have an awesome tenth birthday!”
But, think about it: When you’re one
Your second year of life’s begun
And, likewise, on the day you’re two
It’s birthday number three for you.
Remember, you were zero on
Your first birthday; so forth, so on.
The anniversary, however,
Varies from the year, well, never:
When you’re married for a year
You celebrate the first one. Clear?
It’s sports events that need the most
Assistance here. They’ll raise a toast
To ten years running, and they’ll claim
Their tenth event is just the same
As their tenth annniversary.
That’s simply an absurdity!
Let’s say the first’s in ’91.
In ’92 the next one’s run.
That’s number two, right? Check the date:
Two/’92. We’ll keep that straight
Without a problem, both have “two”
Right at the end. It’s hard to screw
The math up that way, right? Let’s see,
Now what’s the anniversary?
The second? No! It’s just the first!
How ’bout the next year? We’ve rehearsed
This sequence, so I know you know it:
Third race, two years in. Don’t blow it…
That’s it! You’ve got it! Follow me
On down the years to twenty-twelve’s
Edition…talk amongst yourselves…
It ends in two…how many races?
Twenty-two! They tied their laces
For the tenth in Y2K
(Ninth anniversary), then they
Did twenty in two thousand ten.
Which anniversary was then?
That’s right: The 19th! You’re on fire!
All right, if you’re asking, “Why’re
We discussing math so late?”
The answer is that on this date
Just 39 short years ago
Was born the sport we all now know
As Ironman Triathlon:
18 February, on
A chilly beach in Waikiki,
Two people very dear to me
Debuted the race they co-created.
Though over time the tale was freighted
With testosterone and ego,
That’s not what we see when we go
Back in time to seven-eight
Where Judy and her handsome mate
(My daddy, John) shot off the gun
For Iron Man Triathlon One.
That’s one year short of forty. Any
Guesses on the count? Jack Benny
Would have gotten this one wrong
‘Cause he refused to move along
Past 39, but there’s a twist:
An extra race threw off the list
In ’82, when they raced twice—
October’s when the weather’s nice
More often than it’s not, so they
Ran number six the Saturday
That came the nearest that full moon.
Sixth race, fifth year, no wonder soon
The ordinal got lost to time!
I only keep it straight ’cause I’m
A sibling of the race itself
(We share our parents). I was twelfth
The second year (read also: last;
I’m known for going long, not fast).
So, Happy Anniversary
To Ironman! Your brother, Me.
For thirty years, today, I’ve worn this ring
For thirty-nine months more I’d wished it so
I’m baffled that you chose to do this thing
Yet far more grateful than you’ll ever know
Because of you a daughter and a son
Both call me Papa (okay, that’s on him)
You said “I do” in front of everyone
And now we proudly gaze, as one, on them
This happy married man and family
Exist because you took a crazy chance
On someone who did not deserve you (me)
And taught this two-left-footnik how to dance
I love you more than freckles love the sun
And if it’s up to me, we’ve just begun
Calvin, back in 1985,
Was six years old, which means today he’d be
Approaching middle age, but still alive.
For Hobbes, the news is less sublime. You see,
A tiger in captivity may live
A quarter-century or thereabouts.
To tally thirty years, we’d have to give
That cat the benefit of megadoubts.
The CEO of SpiffCo LLC
(The firm that launched the space tourism craze)
Is lonesome, which he never thought he’d be
When Hobbes and he entossed their salad days.
Transmogrified in daydreams, though, the friends
Scream down a wagon ride that never ends.
Winter Solstice means for me
My WordPress anniversary.
This is the date in twenty-ten
That saw my posting streak begin.
Four years straight of random rhyme–
A literary waste of time
For which I’m thankful every day
Despite the dearth of things to say
With which I find myself accursed.
What’s weird to me is that the worst,
Most idiotic things I write
Are often those that wring delight
From readers, which just goes to show
That four years on I still don’t know
What other people want to read;
It’s just my appetites I feed,
And should I overeat and fart
Please know, I’m farting from the heart.