A poem for my baby in advance of that bizarre annual festival of lies — no, not my birthday — Valentines Day. It’s called "Hey baby, could you get some dinner on the way home from work?."
Hey baby, could you get some dinner on the way home from work?
I’m not sure what you want, but I wouldn’t mind having Wendy’s.
If you want something else, that would be fine too.
If you want me to cook for you, I’d love to do that.
But if you want Wendy’s too, I’d like it if you could get me a bacon classic combo and a chilli.
Oh, and please get some extra hot sauce.
It’s hot, like you.
It’s saucy, like you.
I love it, like you.
I think she’ll like it.