Four Days To Go

As our eight wedding anniversary looms closer and closer,

My breaths become shorter and raspier, I feel a sense of discomposure,

Four days later,

You may or may not have done anything spectacular,

However, the feeling that we’ve sailed through eight years of stormy seas,

Without too much of a wheeze,

Would have been reason enough,

To celebrate with some chicken puff,

That massive, flaky one from Poetry, overloaded,

And stuffed to the brim with spicy chicken filling, that just explodes,

In the mouth, with every greedy bite,

Next, we would’ve walked down the streets of Hiranandani in delight,

After that calorie laden meal,

With a lot of gusto and zeal,

“Let’s wash it down with ice cream?”, I would suggest,

“Sure poopie. Nature’s Basket?”, you would have pressed,

Windows down and staring at the world passing by,

Car cozily parked next to Hiranandani garden, finishing our ice creams by the sly,

A long afternoon siesta would follow,

That is unless, your son decided to wallow,

In self pity and hysterical sobs,

For he never wanted to come home, our only jobs,

Are to keep him entertained,

Doesn’t matter if we feel drained,

From our outing of gluttony,

He would be utterly,

Cranky and sleepy,

Which explains, why he would be so weepy,

Hopefully, the next anniversary would be more calm,

With no baby meltdowns or need for headache balms.