I sit around
thinking
I wasted my life.
Seems I have heard you
ponder the same concept.
So I am looking
at the plaques.
On my wall.
Hanging. There are only four.
But
if you had told me
when I was young,
I would earn
any of these awards,
any of them,
even one,
I would have said,
well, fuck me, that’s cool.
And there are four. Four.
Of course, four is a small number. More than none.
I have plaques
four of them
and a wall. Four of them.
A roof, too.
When I am old.
Fuck me, that’s cool.
I have a big trophy
it’s not mine.
Neither is the roof.
