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.