PREDICTABILITY
Felt old and wicked the lady did like her life revolved in one big skid,
How, she thought, can I not be the person I always expected to be?
She lifted up her sorry head and drooped herself back on the bed,
She felt quite pale and useless too, she never thought she’d ever view
again the long-outstretched beyond that once seemed as close as a fairy wand
waving the sparkly possibilities of ancient lands and modern cities,
She would have gone, she’d planned it well, Instead, she stayed in suburban hell
Lifting the lids in little ways but mostly boxed in predictable days,
The flowers bloomed and her eyes grew dim, She thought, if only I’d followed my whims,
The long days’ journey is nearly over and I’m still sitting on my stoop in Dover,
It’s not what I expected or planned, I was going to explore the world, see every land,
What happened? What got in the way? I found myself wrapped up like clay
in muddy, dusty, concreted crusts of shoulds and do’s and don’ts and musts,
So now the end of life appears and I’ve squandered all my gifted years,
My back is flat and I am sad, although it hasn’t been that bad,
this time on earth was pretty dull I never plucked the fruits at all,
Predictability colored my days, I kept in line in a thousand ways,
Nothing much ever surprised me I missed so much just passing by me,
Oh woe, oh hell, oh rats, oh yuk, I found I lay around in muck,
My family all expected me to be the hostess to a “T”
and keep the ever-pouring pot of coffee standing by and hot,
My man was good but often late, He ate his dinner on a warmed-up plate,
We rarely shared a friendly chat, He was much too busy with this and that,
So now, I wonder if at all I should have spent more time at the mall,
or potting plants or skating away on rosy ice drifts that float away
and carry us to other spots, to lands and seas and exciting plots
to rehydrate all our silliness, Some surprises I know I now would bless,
Sustain the old intruding love and falling leaves with squandered doves
who flutter against the heavy nets I strung around to hedge my bets,
Have your cake in brandy with cream and forks that dip daintily in sides of porks,
How did it all dissolve to this? I should have offered more often my kiss
to all the wonders that showed me their cheek, But the truth of it is I was fearful and weak,
I wouldn’t seize the glorious day, I tried to tread in a careful way,
To rock no boats and throw no curves, I frittered away my jangling nerves,
So best to look at where I’m headed now that the sun in the west is bedded,
I guess I will follow the evening star and sprint across the galaxies for about as far
as unleashed love and energy allow, no more to sit down and only plow
a perfect-sided linear rut, I’m finally getting off my butt!
Barbara Brewster, March, 1998
