To a Volunteer’s Lady
I’m sure there are occasions when you stop and wonder why,
Your man can’t be normal like an ordinary guy.
What makes him want to volunteer, to dedicate himself,
To a job that puts a strain upon your mental health.
He spends a lot of precious time on weekends and at night,
At practice after practice and he still can’t get it right.
And though you heard him say that he’d be home just after nine,
He stumbles in at two AM with whoopee on his mind.
He never seems to have much time to help you with the chores,
But he’s often at the fire hall to wash the dirty floors.
And just when you convince him that it’s time to cut the lawn,
As if he knows – The pager goes – And in a flash he’s gone.
A lot of meals you cook for him are left there getting cold,
“I’ll be right back,” he tells you “kindly put my grub on hold”.
And hours later he comes in, all black and soaking wet,
And says to you, “I’m starving, is my supper ready yet?”
It takes a special person to put up with all this crap,
To calmly tolerate us without getting in a flap.
There can’t be many woman who could stand to lead the life,
Of the dedicated soul who is a Firefighter’s wife.
We know that on occasion, you resent this dismal fate,
That often sees you wondering what’s happened to your mate.
We also know, but seldom show that you’re important too,
As a member of a team that does what someone has to do.
----- Chris Caldwell