Being There

I’m nearly seventy-two
and he wants a list
Another list? 

A birthday wish list?
I know, I know,
what would our friend Walt do?
He’d write and write and write,
and they’d all be great,
and they’d all be interesting,
and we’d all read them
and we’d all have ink envy…again.

I mean, I have lots of stories,
lots of lists, so

that’s no problem, and
it’s too late now to worry about
too much exposure, but, let’s see…

Maybe we could talk more than we do,

though we don’t seem to need to.

Maybe we could buy me some new clothes,

have me dress more fabulously,

but I’d just wear tee shirts anyhow.

Maybe we could dance the night away,

stay out late, make some noise,

but bedtime’s when the music starts,

so, you know…

Maybe we could go to parties,

hit a beach Bar-B-Q,

but a couple friends at home or lunch

is way more comfy.

Wait, I know…

maybe we could forget about lists,

bucket or otherwise.

Maybe we could simply enjoy this

present moment,

beautiful moment,

wonderful moment.