I feel like I am forever filling up an attic
with boxes of knick-knacks I'm not prepared to throw out
but have no clue what to do with.
I think of errands to run: I have to go to the bank,
diaper supplies are dangerously low,
we are out of milk and orange juice...
Other thoughts drift by like odd deep sea fish:
Will I be able to read all the books that are piling up?
My hair is getting too long. Does anyone read my poems?
I wander this dark attic when I cannot sleep,
thinking of friends I've lost touch with
and speak to ghosts in need of company.
They want to know what it's like to be young
and laugh at my talk of being mired with responsibility.
Well, you haven't changed diapers
while trying to write a status update, I say.
You're lucky, I tell them, you don't have to choose
between Apple and Android, Taylor Swift or Miley Cyrus.
Go back to sleep, Greg, they say.
Those are questions for the ages.
November 16, 2010