Sunday: Phew!

I’ve been thinking a lot, trying to accrue
a sense of how I am going to get through
the rest of my life—trying to
decide how to kill time, but possessed of view
of being constructive and being true
to myself. And one thing I know is that I can outdo
most of my friends when it comes to
rhyming in couplets—I know I imbue
an impression in others that can easily outdo
all my other skills.

Now this is fun; this I could do
for a while to see where it leads
and if I could pursue
dialogue and tension—tell a story or two
in rhyme. But for who—
rather whom—should I brew
these words? For me? For you?
Oh, I think that won’t do,
for I now eschew attention.

And so I come back to
the question: what am I to do?

Write for myself?

Yes, that’s it. And so to review:

Couplets for me (not for you) are due—
couplets, couplets until I turn blue.
And not just rhymes, but humour too,
if, to myself, I am to be true.

So like nothing done by me hitherto
that may be what I do.

Telling stories in rhyme.
And I know I’ll construe
an opportunity for costumes,
‘cause you know how I love
needles, thread, scissors and glue.

But for now, it’s the beach
So I bid you adieu.