Tuesday, April 7, 2009

poem perceptive on pressure, perfection & parents

How my mind works:

Overwhelming contemplations and concerns over the future recently,
anxiety over present perfection to prepare for future legacy:
I’ve got some big shoes waiting in my closet (amongst the skeleton collection),
for that earth shattering day or night
when I become an orphan,
when I become the legacy,
when I become the only.

Tonight, reading an old New York Times article:
A statistic startled me,
the number required me to first check the calendar,
then forced some quick math,
a subtraction reveled the difference,
the difference took my breath away.

U.S.:
Annual Deaths:
Will reach 3 million between the years 2010 & 2040,
when Baby Boomers are expected to take their last breaths.

And in my mind:
(F***).
Today is already 2009.
(we’re all running out of time)
My parents.
(are they Boomers?)
I don’t know.
Dad’s 50th this year.
add another 50,
(please, god),
year 2059.

No, not Boomers, I guess.
but still, it’s 2009..the time…

The future feels as close as it ever has,
perfection is nevermore near.
pressure builds
until the big boom.

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