When I’m 67

It's time for some Poetry Jam & I am the chef du jour. I was dismayed to realize after reading the prompt (that I wrote, mind you) that I didn't have any idea what I was going to do about it. Here's what I said:

...write about what you think your life will be like at age 67. If you're already there, then tell us what your life is like now. And while you're at it, write in a form you don't usually use. If you're a rhymer, don't rhyme. If you're not a rhymer, rhyme.

Well I have to say I did not find that to be a very easy prompt (sorry!). Of course, I'm not really feeling the poetry these days anyway. But I prevailed & wrote the following. I didn't feel like rhyming, so what's different about this poem is that I made the lines a lot longer than I usually do. Woo and hoo. Heh. Anyway, after you read this one please go here to read what other poets have written.

When I’m 67

There are two versions of my life –

the one I’m living and the one that I want to live.

Shifting to ease my ancient bones

I list the sins that that litter the doorway

between the two.

There is avarice and a toddler’s egotism

and the belief that now is all that will ever be –

that bread today might not be here tomorrow.

It makes me sad, to see my mean spirit

exposed this way.

Not everything needs to be swept away.

My heart is sometimes opened wide for love –

opened wide for God’s least of these (amen) –

and opened wide for justice most of all.

Opened wide.

I look down that long road with hope

that I’ve made it through that coveted doorway.

But mostly, I want a desk, a chair, a descendent of

this computer and you with that irresistible dimple

just there.