If I were still a drinking man,
I’d say I need a shot;
but as my self-made realm is dry
I think I’d better not.
If I were still procuring weed,
I’d want to roll a joint;
but all I’ve left is seeds and stems —
I think you get the point.
If I were still alone and free,
I’d probably point my car
with nowhere as my destination;
but now I’d not get far.
If I had those proclivities
that helped me through my youth,
I’d more than likely make a mess
of things, to tell the truth.
Instead, I’ll sit and meditate,
reflecting on a week
that seemed to drag on endlessly
and sap my strength to speak.
Then in the morning, when I wake
I’ll not be worse for wear;
and be more glad for nothing planned
and money saved. So there.
If I were still the man I was,
I’d see myself, and laugh.
But then again, I’d rather be
a joke than epitaph.
21 JAN 2005
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