Green

by James Valvis

The first time I met
my wife she’d polished
her toenails green.
Of all colors: green.

And she had tattoos,
one on her wrist, another
on the nape of her neck,
and I cannot stand tattoos
on a man, let alone a woman,
let alone my woman.

And the music she likes—
awful. Truly unfortunate.
Her movies, unwatchable.
And she eats calamari,
which the rest of us realize
is squid.

But I keep coming back to
the green toenails. I mean,
green. I’m saying, green
toenails.

It’s a good thing I’m so
perfect or we would have
never made it.