Two or Four

He found a bottle in the sand,It wouldn't qualify as grand,He took it home, because he could,And it upon his mantle stood.
It sat there for perhaps an hour,Till his wife noticed, looked quite dour,Said, “Ray, your bottle’s filthy, true,Now clean it up. Or say adieu!”
He grumbled just a little bit,Then shrugged and took a buffing mitt,And polished that old bottle fine,Till it glowed with lustrous shine.
But as he buffed that bottle shook,A genie popped out, turned and looked,Then said, “A wish for you—just one,So choose most carefully, my son.”
Ray said, “Y’know I hate to fly,But I’m a real ‘Hawaiian’ guy,So build a bridge from here to there,I’ll get across ‘thout being scared.”
The genie snorted, “That’s just weird,Impossible I greatly fear,So choose again, my silly man,I’ll tell you if I think I can.”
Ray rubbed his chin both to and fro,Said slowly, “I would like to know,The secrets of a woman’s heart,And understand them…for a start.”
The genie frowned and stared at him,(I think he looked a little grim,)He crossed the room and op’ed the door,Then flexed his hands: “Two lanes or four?”

Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,With poetry, we all besought,To try to make the week beginWith pleasant thoughts,Perhaps a grin?So all of us, together, weHave crafted poems for you to see.And now you’ve read what we have wrought . . .Did we help?Or did we not?
Jenny Charlotte Mimi