The List, Obligatory

Risking sentimentality, I sit down to write

A quarter, or more, of my life

Has passed by

With little left behind in its wake.

So I gather a list

Of things to do

With the next three quarters.

And cross “Book” off of the top of the list,

Written specifically to cross off.

Crossing something off

Implies accomplishment.

My list looks little like that

Of girls at my age

In my situation.

“Apartment” to replace “picket fences,”

“Ireland” in lieu of “children.”

Love is on the list,

A husband, perhaps,

But life has made me cynical

And I’d rather have the Emerald Isle 

Than walking down the aisle.  

At least

That is my position today.

Tomorrow

My whole list could change.

Austin and magazine, I write next.

Followed by bookstore, 

Coffee,

Stage,

Pretentious poets reading pretentious poetry

And people flocking to hear it

Because they think it makes them

More cultured than their friends 

Who stayed home with poopy diapers

Colic and strained carrots.

Things to do

Before…

Before I die?

How dismal. Before I am fifty.

That should be enough time.