Appointments: January 31, 1985
Today let me drink four glasses of clean-tasting water,
three of milk.
Let me eat two eggs over easy,
two triple-decker peanut butter and applesauce sandwiches,
one thermos of Top Ramen.
Let me remember my vitamin pill.
Let me do my back exercises morning and evening.
I must shave.
I must remember to tape the reading of Silas Marner on KPFA so I can listen to it in the truck.
I must walk the dog three times.
Today, let me remember his flea powder. And the pill for his prostate.
Give me time to read the newspaper,
swim fifty-two laps,
work eight hours for somebody somewhere,
get the mail,
write one poem,
eat dinner with my family,
read stories to three children.
Let me enjoy a glass of port before bed (just like my grandfather used to do).
Let me hear about your day.
I will tell about mine
and how it differed from the plan.
Maybe we can laugh
if it wasn’t too bad.
I will brush my teeth with the electric toothbrush.
I’ll floss with Johnson & Johnson Dentotape.
Of that I am absolutely certain.
under the quilt
on the wavy waterbed.
Please let no child wake us
and we’ll sleep until dawn.
When going through my journals, I was surprised to find this poem, which is basically a snapshot of my life in 1985. Nowadays
I eat smaller meals and swim fewer laps. I drink beer instead of port,
and I floss with Oral B. I still enjoy a good snuggle.