Could have been famous, so I’ve always said;
those Hollywood notions still mess with my head.
Should be free of them by now, I suppose –
just takes accepting the life that I chose.
Paths come together, and then they diverge.
Drought always leads to some great demiurge.
Crossed wires connecting one thing to the next,
building new circuits where no one suspects.
Could have made money, or more than I do;
but then I wouldn’t have what I’ve been through.
Could start all over, and trust all to chance,
despite Thoreau’s quip about new pairs of pants.
Paths run together, and then they part ways;
hard to judge where they lead there through the haze.
One trail seems easy, deceptively so;
each single step leads to what you don’t know.
Could have made much wiser use of my brain –
sounds like my mother’s recurring refrain.
Gone to Columbia, Juilliard, Yale;
available options, now beyond the pale.
Roads intersect, and they head off apart:
North and East intellect, South and West, heart.
Could have done better, but no, never mind;
here is where I am, and right here is fine.
10 SEP 2003