Every single night,
Between the dusk and dawn.
I wake up with a fright,
To find my lover gone.

Is she visiting the bathroom?
Did she go to poop or pee?
If so, she’ll be back soon.
Flushed with victory.

Could she not fall asleep?
Did she move to the recliner?
Did she find another cabin?
Am I on an ocean liner?

Did she go to walk the dog?
I heard no toenails on the floor.
Did she leave for someone else?
Does she not love me anymore?

Did she flee to see her sister?
Did I do something wrong?
That’s probably not the answer,
She wasn’t gone that long.

Did she need a midnight snack?
Perhaps she’s feeling yucky.
Was she murdered in her sleep?
I would never be that lucky.

Sick Leave

I’m sorry you’re feeling poorly.
While I’m still feeling fine.
I guess I’ll get the bread and cheese,
Since I know you’ll bring the whine.

I’ve found for you the perfect job,
For every long, hot Texas Spring.
You could go and play in center field,
Since you always catch something.

You have a backyard garden,
With plants and herbs and ferns.
Yet, you only need a Petri dish,
What you grow best are germs.

I need to ask your height and weight,
I hope it’s not much trouble.
It’s just this year at Christmastime,
I’m buying you a bubble.