When One Door Closes
Author's note: This is a sort of postscript, dear reader, to "My Life Upon the Wicked Stage"
When I think of how my life's turned out,
I can say without restraints,
This simple boy from far West Texas did just fine.
There've been some bumps along the way, of course,
But all in all I've no complaints,
And any failures or successes all are mine.
When I retired from teaching,
Oh, so many years ago,
To seek my fame and fortune on the stage,
I quickly learned how fleeting fame is,
How feeble fickle fortune's glow,
Still, I've no guilty conscience to assuage.
I make a decent margarita,
I read and speak un peu Français,
My suits and shirts are off the rack from JC Penney.
I rent a one-bedroom apartment,
I drive an ancient Chevrolet,
And of stocks and IRAs, there aren't any.
But when the muse of poetry
Sought me out and said, "Hey, Jim,
I propose the role of poet you embrace.
If you let the page become your stage,
Your acting bulb need never dim,
And we can help to make the world a better place."
Sure, my life has had its ups and downs,
But, as I said, I can't complain,
I've my health, good friends, some money in the bank.
My dream is now to write a play or novel,
And if that goal I should attain,
I'll have this practice posting poetry to thank.
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