What if
Updated: Jul 13, 2021

WHAT IF I WROTE A POEM
About being seventy-seven
and trying not
to speculate how long I’ve got left
and I loved a woman
who was far away in another city
and it was snowing and cold
and the wind found places
around the window frames
to sneak in and trouble me
and my memory hurt
from the bad things I’d done
and those little lit places in my cells
where I’d done good
were not enough to keep me warm
and my buck up
motor wasn’t working
and prayer and meditation
just taught me I was present
with all this and one Buddhist said
our karma is manure
to grow flowers in but right now
it just stinks like an old hog
and not only that some idiot
will try to give me advice
if I publish this poem
so I won’t bother, how about that?