Winging it

To plan is good, so I've been told.
It's human to anticipate, to picture
What is not in sight, and list the
Steps which must be taken, either
To arrive at it, or have it come to
Be. And that, of course, is how
We've gotten here, to soaring
Cities, food in cans, to freedom
From disease and cold, to what
We humans, planners all, have
Made a world altogether unlike
What we knew: a place that's clean
And glossy, and so mechanized
It runs itself, though dully and
Predictably, but, here's the rub,
Imperfectly, as all around the
World we've made are things
We can't anticipate, and these
Arrive at intervals to lay waste
To our plans.

Your car broke down. You've
Missed your bus. You would
Have called to say that you'll
Be late, but you have lost your
Phone, and, blundering into
The nearest doorway, you've
Encountered me, and, yes,
I'll let you use my phone.
I'll stare and offer you a
Doughnut, then I'll ask
You out for breakfast, ask
You if you've ever spent a
Morning watching ferries
Make their way across the bay,
And I will hope you'll say
You'd love to, since you
Haven't plans.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 11 times
Written on 2013-01-09 at 13:31

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