This man of mine, this country boy,
Has brought me to the city,
A celebration of our anniversary,
And stepping far outside
Of what is comfortable
Or even remotely familiar,
He tries to give me a brief taste
Of the things I miss from my old life.

Wearing a new Carhart t-shirt
And his best pair of Red-wing boots
He sits across the table from me
At an Indian restaurant.
I know he would rather be eating BBQ
Or fried crappie, or a well done steak
But I love papadum and chicken tikka
So he has brought me here
And gamely tries the chutney.

We walk by a pond in the city park,
Home to a flock of Canada geese
And I want to see him call them to us
Because I know he can,
And I am proud of his skill with a call.
The fountain in the water looks to me
Like nothing more than an overgrown
Mallard machine by a duck-blind.

This man of mine, this country boy
Brings me back to our little piece of land
Far from city lights and traffic,
On a rural road on the outskirts of a town
Of less than seven hundred souls.
We step back into what is comfortable,
What is familiar, and I find to my surprise
I don’t really miss my old life at all.