The Bucket List

As I sit down to write this piece, my Favorite Poet’s plane should be landing in Paris. It was wonderful to have him home for the holidays, but I once again have to relinquish him to his chosen life in the City of Lights. Seeing him so happy there makes the separation more bearable, though I already miss him.

 

During this past weekend, we watched two movies together. One was the always excellent Tom Hanks in “Charlie Wilson’s War” deserving of two thumbs up, and the other was “The Bucket List.” Though the story of Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson facing cancer and dying is hardly the stuff of suspense, the quality of the writing and acting is such that I have to place it on my “do not miss” recommendation list. Those who’ve seen this movie will appreciate the following poem even more, though it stands on its own merits.

 

Exit Strategies

 

After Edward Lear

 

You might be bit by a rattler hid in your boot

or choke while drinking green tea;

could be killed by the kick of a madwoman’s foot

or be drowned in the syllabub sea.

 

You could murder yourself in New York with a fork

or melt in a crater of lava;

You could die by too frequently popping the cork

of your favorite brand of Marsala.

 

You could be gored by a virulent bull

Or be bored by a brute of a bee.

Your skull could crack like a china doll’s

when you fall from a three-story tree.

You might be split in two halves by a horse

or you could go more peacefully, of course.

 

Julie Moulds

 

Advertisement