Story last updated at 3/19/2014 - 1:37 pm
If at age eighty five
I find myself alive
that will be just fine,
but thought I needed a deadline
though not necessarily such a non-metaphoric one,
but one to get whatever hoped for done,
to publish whatever I intend to publish,
to follow up on every neglected wish.
Fifteen years was inarguably arbitrary,
being loaded with neither hope nor despair
mostly plucked so to speak from thin air,
but soon I began to hedge my bet.
At age seventy, fifteen more years seemed plenty,
but by age seventy two, thirteen seemed too few.
Now at almost 75 I had a yen for more than ten.
So with the number never firmly set
I'm considering changing my bet
to fifteen years from the present year
thus if I'm still alive at eighty five
my deadline will slide to an even hundred.
By Richard Stokes