His Age Minus Three

If I should die before I turn thirty,

a time where I'll have trouble, stubble,

and pay my taxes,

I'd like for you to think I would have made it.

I would have written everyday;

I would have read at night and made love

at the apex of the crescent, waning, waxing,

and fullest of moons.

My children would have been grand

and bea-u-ti-ful; smart and earthly

well-rounded. My wife would have been light

strong, and brilliantly dark --

a raven's feather, a boiling garden; perfect for your son.

If I should die before I turn thirty,

bury me with my copy of Steinbeck 

and leave my tombstone incomplete.

"Here lies --"

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed