now, what, again

it sneaks up now and then
and more now
it
seems than then, lately:
what
are
you doing
with your
life is
the question
that can dust over
a
particularly
fine,
ordinary day,
and it’s one that simply
has, at this point, way
too
many
good answers, none of
which
seem
to
sate the conscience.
something worthwhile.
something
I do well.
something
that pays ok in this
time of joblessness
and
worry.
but what comes back as
the
rejoinder is this:
ok. fine.
both of which
seem far too tame and
lukewarm for the times,
when it may really
be
time to try to do
what you’ve ALWAYS
wanted to do, which is
what?
aye, and comes, there,
the rub.
I’ve always wanted to be
a writer
and a drummer
and a second baseman
for any team, really,
and a creator
and a lover and
someone who is making
a
difference.
write a movie script.
write a memoir.
seduce a wild-eyed argentine
beauty.
solve one of the world’s
problems, or suffer, at
least
in the trying.
that which stops me, here,
defeats me – or, at least,
knows me.