The Trip To Rome

I sit and entertain my books, and they respond in kind the spouse has lost her youthful looks much grown has her behind. All facial muscles have retired behind a bunch of wrinkles the face that I once had admired now looks like dough and sprinkles. The sprinkles being brownish spots that can be slightly bleached my hand that holds forget-me-nots belongs to a big, beached and blubber-bound and aging whale though that is not the issue a human being who is male who's reaching for a tissue to blot the tears from bright blue eyes because of this depressive and now completed mean surprise that's making me aggressive. The photo album proves me right there once was real beauty today I dim the ceiling light and do my decent duty I pay the bills and mow the grass and bring the bacon home at night I sit on my fat ass read brochures about Rome. We wanted to vacation there she bought a brand new dress it probably would not be fair to cancel, would he bless I mean of course the bloody Pope that just elected Kraut what if he gave us fresh new hope they say he has much clout with God himself who said one time that he made woman, also man into exquisitely sublime true copies of himself (he can) so personally I think that he'd be shocked at her visage and grab her at the brink perform a miracle (mirage) and give her back to me then we would travel to the spa in Lourdes, which is not free to resurrect what fills the bra and some more nips and tugs we might get all my money's worth eliminate all bugs so that the years still on this earth will be for me more pleasant. She asked just now about the trip and looks like an old peasant stands by the door, hand on big hip and smiles when she opines 'I think we ought to ask the Pope if he can straighten spines, and also, (we can always hope) would he erase those lines that double chin and flabby arms the ingrown nails and bunions if God would just restore your charms and stop you eating onions and most of all, I'd pray quite hard if they would grow your hair and cut those many pounds of lard and change you from a pear to what I married years ago you once were really handsome let's give those Catholics a go and hold the Pope to ransom.' We went to Rome, the Pope had died we took the holy dips sat in the lobby where she cried and I had a few nips. No one would talk or understand our marital dilemma and while we listened to the Band I said: 'My dearest Emma, we've come this far and I did look at all the Southern Belles and even bought that Playboy book that the hotel here sells. I'm now convinced that on this globe there is no better spouse so would you slip into your robe but first take off your blouse.'