They've been together sixty years;
an accomplishment, you'd say,
but in that time together,
it's been a challenge, day to day.
He's not a morning person,
he's grumpy and he's rude;
she's really had enough of him,
he fails in gratitude.
She IS a morning person
and to him that is annoying,
for now he's reached this stage in life
and it isn't for enjoying.
They're with each other all day long
and hardly say a word,
but then he realised that she
was like that little bird*.
The one that helps the buffalo
by standing on his back
and feeding on the parasites,
while warning of attack.
Like the bird she wears red lipstick,
but there the likeness ends
and feeling rather guilty now,
he'd like to make amends.
For he's just like the buffalo,
wallowing in his chair,
with folds of flab that slow him
when he rises in despair.
A failure in companionship,
he's an armchair detainee,
while she does all the housework
and brews him cups of tea.
She really does take care of him;
in return he 'does his best',
but that's little contribution
and has to be addressed.
And with this realisation,
the penny finally dropped;
the bird and buffalo partnership
succeeds while theirs has flopped.
Both buffalo and bird exist
in a symbiotic state;
while she contributes more than him
and he knows they don't equate.
So now he makes more effort,
they talk more and go out
and life is more enjoyable;
that's what marriage is about.
He's helping out around the home,
he's doing his fair share,
she's thankful and he feeds off that,
no longer feels her stare.
And at length he acknowledges,
understands that all his life;
he's blamed the one he's always loved;
his little bird; his wife.
By Alan Dickie
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