Tuesday, April 20, 2010


If this thing we're working on just doesn't work
And I'm tipping the scales at half-past jerk
And we can't face the dread of another day
And it's clear we'll fall apart if we stay

If the "us" we love is buried too deep
Under layers of worries that haunt our sleep
And the waking hours still mask the view
Of essentials that once had numbered so few

The only thing clear is we've lost perspective
And I fear even that may not be objective
I can't quite recall why we did this, can you?
Right... Retiring young, at age fifty two
With a paid-off house and a pool of blue

We hold out til then, and finally chill
I might make it, thanks to this little blue pill
Just 14 years til I can relax
In the mean time, I'm besties with Pfizer's Xanax

The numbers worked out when we did the math
It all added up at the start of this path
When I double check now, though, I see some big gaps
Like the price of sanity and the cost of its lapse

It's sapping our strength, building this pile
And it's so rare now that I see your smile
I foresee, like Jenga, an inevitable fall
And us, being crushed neath the weight of it all

Like earthquake victims, we'd be trapped beneath
All this stuff that we bought by the sweat of our teeth
We might not make it, but if we survive
Will we be happy and able to thrive?

If we spend all we have, both time and soul
To chase what seemed a reasonable goal
And if, in fact, we do make it through
Will we retire, soul-crippled, at age fifty-two
Having lost, on the way, the true "me and you"?

This anniversary, let's mark the occasion
By deconstructing this complex equation
And stripping bare our list of needs
Let's prune out the wants and the choking weeds

Instead of a sparkling pool of blue
Let's take one suitcase or possibly two
Passports and plane tix in trade for our cars
Swap thread-count for hammocks hung under the stars

Someplace warm , but mostly remote
We'll fish off shore from a tiny boat
We'll shed all the stuff that's crowded our brains
And build on the "us" and the love that remains

And in this soft life that some would call rough
We'll find peace in carrying only enough
Healthy and strong and finally free
Remind me again why this was Plan B?

(c) Jeanene Vesper 2010

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