The World Isn’t Waiting on You

Some moments, you wake up
In the middle of life,
Startled to remember

Not much is expected
From the rest of your life—
A book reviewer notes,

Of children as readers,
That soon they will grow up
Enough to feel the weight

Of what the world needs done
To prevent disaster
Freight their narrow shoulders

With decades of choices
Bearing down on their spines,
And suddenly you feel

Weightless. What, after all,
Are you planning to do
In the assorted months

You’ve been told are left you?
You can be a good soul,
Maybe, do some good things

In the name of living
In the face of dying,
But unless you’re filthy,

Stinking rich and gifted
With great liquidity,
There are few last-minute

Gestures available
To terminally ill,
Frail individuals.

You roll outside to think
This through on the porch
In the still autumn air

While territorial
Wasps of some small species
Harass you in the dusk,

Offering you their hint
That the best you can do,
In their view, is to go.