So to celebrate my husband’s 60th birthday, I gave him his dream present. To the amusement of my children and no doubt to the annoyance of a few other wives in the neighbourhood. My justification? Well, as one of the kids said in their card: “60 is the new 30 – x 2” or as my Brazilians friends might say: “if you have it, flaunt it. If you don’t have it, flaunt it.” And here’s a fun poem to go with it:
Mid-way between the womb and grave
(the gloom of tomb or senile rave)
I rashly, for my husband, bought
a novel toy, a new transport.
Two wheels combined at steep incline,
to burn the road and scrape the tar
and chase the cobwebs from our hair.
Freedom formed with spike and chain –
the years fell off, the addled brain
came alive, adrenalin
pumping wild through every vein.
Leather-clad, away we sped;
wind whistling in my face –
death approaching fast apace.
The kids called it a ‘crisis’, we
felt more the opportunity.