Her husband thought she went shopping too much.
He didn’t realize to her it was like shopping therapy.
It filled some emptiness within, made her feel better.
And they had more than enough money to afford it.
And many in her position, women and men
Would be the same, like Christmas every day.
Some would say she is too materialistic
In her constant need to buy more stuff.
But she’s harming no one in her shopping sprees,
And as long as she isn’t breaking the bank,
And it makes her feel better, why not?
Were I her and money wasn’t a problem
I’d probably be doing the same.
I’d probably start with a giant aquarium
And homing pigeons galore flying in circles
Above a castle in the country, maybe with a moat.
And probably a hot trophy wife for appearances,
Who otherwise wouldn’t be with old, wizened me,
Too old and and not monied enough to afford her.
And some high dollar, coiffured, pedigree dogs,
Maybe a $10,000 pampered, pedigree cat.
Oh yeah, a personal chef and barber too,
But wait! Already I’m breaking the bank,
And this poem is not supposed to be about me.
Bob Boyd
