Nineteen-Eighty Poem by Charles Hancock

It was the Year of Our Lord, Nineteen-Eighty
A Southerner, Rosalynn, was still our first lady
Becoming lifelong friends at our place of employment
The next three decades…full of heartache and enjoyment

I burned the roads up in a green Ford Gran Torino
Silly me, I thought my car was as hot as a jalapeño
Litha had a Pontiac Firebird and you drove a VW Bug
You were sad the day a semi smashed it like a garden slug

You got wedded and became a mother to Josh and Wynne
I did the same and fathered two, Kyle and Jackie Lynn
Both marriages went the way of the bloody war in Viet Nam
I tried wedlock again, fathering twin boys, Jake and Sam

Yet again, my marital bliss ended like a Japanese kamikaze
Good thing I'm not famous, can you imagine the paparazzi
I moved back home, and we agreed to meet for a cup of joe
Before we knew it sparks flew, and soon I became your beau

On a September afternoon I asked you to become my frau
With a grin on your face, you kissed me and said yes and how
Still planning, contriving, and looking for the right date
Just think, hopefully soon we'll be a happy family of eight