Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

it’s the mistakes,
the ****ups, the things that
“go wrong,” which make
up the spice of life, which
illustrate the memories that
divide the passive livers from the
doers who find themselves
fond of the life they’ve lived in
retrospect---
just think of the rights of passage
which everyone seems to say they’ve had,
the first kiss, first ****, the prom, the
driver’s license, first high, first fight,
first arrest, first paycheck, first debt,
first this, first that &
what makes it all worth it is
the fact than none two is the same,
because nothing can be planned
exactly the way that you want it to be,
no****ingmatter how much you try.

so why do we seem surprised 
when someone starts to die? why do we
get mad when the girl/boyfriend cheats, 
or when we reach into the pocket &
there just ain’t enough moola for the 
meal that we feel we need
to get on through,
to get on through &
yet still,
we’re breathing.

to adapt is to survive &
to survive is to win---
there’s no achievement that will make 
you king/queen when the worms start to
burrow their way into your 
rotting flesh, or 
when the last living grandchild
knocks over the urn holding your
dust,
spreading it all over the living room 
carpet---
the hilarity of the matter,
the beauty of the rub,
is that every accident, every unscheduled
deviation, every erratum, every 
miscalculated,
misapprehended, misjudged, misunderstood,
mishandled & mismanaged 
iota of life,
is but a reflection of the whole
random & meaningless 
generation of you & i,
right out into existence,
set to be erased just as quick---
so enjoy the absurdity of it all.

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