On Our Anniversary

You jumped all over me last Saturday
Because you thought I didn't really care,
But you know everybody who was there
Had brought us presents. They were hid away
So when they yelled, "Surprise!" the brittle clay
My feet are made of wouldn't need repair
From what you usually do: you glare,
Then, stamping on my toes, you make me pay.

You were dissatisfied, and asked for proof;
Laid out for us, as pretty as you please,
Were axles, shown in photographs, twelve peas,
Wigs made of plastic, shingles from a roof,
Owl droppings, and, exciting but aloof,
Two melancholy slices of old cheese.