I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of the following poem, written decades ago, and decided to share it here for all those who haven’t lined up a honey for Saturday’s sharing of the Blue Plate Special…
A Valentine Verse for Modern Times
I stood in the card shop,
My heart at my feet,
While staring at greetings
All mushy and sweet.
February fourteen
Came early this year,
I don’t have a “Honey,”
Or a guy to call “Dear.”
I was gathering missives
For family and friends,
But I read every message
To see how it ends.
The cards were all leering
In red, pink and white,
And I couldn’t find greetings
I thought were “just right.”
I got quite depressed
As I stood there that day,
So I shrugged, and I sighed,
And walked sadly away.
“If you weren’t quite so picky,”
Said Anna Marie,
“I’m sure that you’d find
A suitable ‘He.’
“To what kind of man
Would you mail out a card?
If you narrow it down,
It shouldn’t be hard.”
“I’m NOT picky!” I screamed
At the top of my voice,
“I’m single, not desperate,
It’s just there’s no choice!
“All the good ones are married
Or live far away,
And I’m feeling quite lonely
This Valentine’s Day.”
“Then tell me,” she challenged,
“Describe Mr. Right.
Then I’ll know when I see him
Some Saturday night.”
“Okay, “ I relented,
“Proceed if you must,
But I think your idea
Will be a big bust.”
She gave me “that look,”
Stared me straight in the eye,
So I tried to imagine
The most perfect guy.
“…His hair might be blond,
Or perhaps it’s quite dark,
He’s tall or he’s short,
But he sings like a lark.”
“Go on, “ she implored me.
“What else is he like?
Are his eyes blue or brown?
Does he fish, does he hike?”
“I’m thinking,” I told her,
“Of what’s bottom line.
Getting down to the essence
Takes a great deal of time…
“…He doesn’t do drugs
Or smoke cigarettes,
He likes to play Scrabble,
And lets me win bets.
“He might wear glasses,
Or a ring in his ear,
He speaks his own mind,
His opinions are clear.
“He’ll do small repairs
And change the car oil,
His cooking exceeds
Bringing water to boil…
“Yes, he’ll often cook dinner,
When home from his job,
And he’ll pick up his socks,
Cause this guy’s not a slob.
“His jokes make me laugh,
I know he’s quite smart,
He’s romantic, sincere,
And he calls me ‘Sweetheart.’
“He’s kind and he’s gentle,
He’d not hurt a fly,
He votes Democratic,
That’s my kind of guy!”
“A Greek God!” said my friend,
Dear Anna Marie,
“When you find him, please ask
If there’s a brother for me!
“Your list sounds a lot
Like a card that I’d buy
One for women still looking
For their special guy…”
“You’re brilliant!” I told her,
“I could make quite a lot!
I’ve spent a small fortune
On cards that I’VE bought!”
So I got out some paper,
And fired up my pen,
And where my verse started,
This poem will end:
“Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Is there any such person
As Mr. Will Do?”