Why is it so damned hard to do nothing?
Once, when I worked two jobs to feed the kids,
To pay the rent, my burdened heart pouting,
Consumed by stress, my whipped imprisoned id
Jailed inside thick, unwindowed walls of fierce
Responsibility, I dreamed of peace—
Escape from super-ego’s prim piercing
Shriek—free, at last, pursuing sweet caprice.
Well, now the kids are grown, the mortgage paid,
The coffers full enough. What shall I do?
Write a poem no one will read; submit, flayed
By tests and colonoscopies: age-screwed!
I check the news, blanch at the wretched stench,
Play spider solitaire, teeth firmly clenched;
I read, and doze, and read some more, then wrench
Upright, limp to the beach, sit on a bench.
(6/7/08)