Anniversary

How many words ago was it
how many periods, commas, ellipses
have passed since that original question mark?

How many teeth have been removed
from how many mouths since I first kissed you?
How many chainsaw accidents have their been
since we first collapsed like felled pines
into bed together?

We measure the years by the pound,
by the length and height and width
of our wall of empty beer cans,
by the depth of the peanut shells covering the floor
of the honky tonk where we used to take
country line dance lessons, back when we used to be
into that sort of thing

How will we celebrate our Sandpaper Jubilee, my love?
We'll take the day off to drive out to Hourglass Cove,
walk along the beach of golden glitter.
We'll stare out across the ocean of eyedrops,
the sea of mouthwash, the lake of skin creme,
collecting the ropes washed up on the shore
and seeing who can untie the most wet knots.
I'll present  you with a ring set with
the 24 Karat kidney stone I passed
on our last anniversary 

We'll stay at that motel on the cliffs
and spend the dark and stormy night
huddled in front of the laptop,
eating croutons out of the box
and watching reruns of our favorite show,
that one we used to star in before ratings plummeted and
they killed both our characters off and replaced them
with younger versions of ourselves
We'll set the alarm on the sundial
and set the VCR to record our dreams
so we'll have something to bore our grandkids with.
Here's to another fifty pounds, my love,
another 750 cans.