A Perfect Swish
Aug 30 2024
On a good day
I will have made a list,
and one by one
crossing off
completed it.
But most are bad.
New chores get added on
missed chores remain,
and the list accretes
day after day.
So I remind myself
that life is process
not a final resting place.
And that when life ends
— which will be unexpected
and unlikely to announce itself —
there is always a list
you were in the middle of.
That will boxed up with all the stuff
no one wants;
which, you have to admit
is pretty much everything.
Unfinished,
and just as well
left undone.
Because the leaves can rake themselves
for all I’ll care,
someone else
can wait on hold;
bad music
in an endless loop,
burrowing in
like an ear-worm
you can’t evict.
Because most of what we do
is holding fast
— airplanes circling
waiting to land,
beds getting made
you’ll just unmake.
Nevertheless
there is much to be said
for completion
in and of itself;
the satisfaction
of one by one
crossing things off,
the illusion
progress was made.
A sort of accomplishment,
even if the bar is low.
And close the end
looking back at all the lists
you managed to dispose of.
Sheets of paper
crushed into balls,
and with a flick of the wrist
sent over the rim,
sailing into the bin
with a perfect swish.
Your nifty overhand
that rarely misses.
What a lifetime of practice
has left you with.
No comments:
Post a Comment