Bragging Rights

Oh, I think I have the best Valentine’s Day bragging rights, I do. No cards. No candy. No dinner out. No freaking shopping spree. That’s right, my Valentine’s Day was perfect. Why? Lentil soup, a beer, and then my fiancée and I watched Gladiator. Ah, nothing cements a bond like impaled roman slaves, severed Praetorian heads, and sacrifice in the name of the holy Emperor of the Known World (circa 500 b.c.—McNally’s Atlas wasn’t out yet). My gal is the shit. And if you don’t think it from this measly reportage on our gastric and cinematic habits, try this.

I worked on a poem for a month and gave it to her last night. One of maybe two poems I’ve written for her over the years. No, you won’t see it. Poetry is the arena of poets, and a poet I am not. But she liked it. She was tickled.

In exchange, this dove that flits through my life gave me my wedding ring. Haha! Beat that. Gladiator, beer, lentil soup and a wedding ring. The rest of the evening is censored. Go home now. Show’s over.