Is there a time and a place to be selfish?
Surely before kids, or when alone in small snatches
and with the state of us, you’d think we were
a little more thoughtless, our penchant for California
a need for yearly aeroplanes, a refusal to reproduce

Do we have it all worked out?
Are we more special, lucky, made to last
I never felt blessed, only human at best
but if your luck rubs off on me
perhaps you’ll stay, perhaps they’ll let us be
selfish in perpetuity, blissfully happy



Filed under Poetry

3 responses to “78.

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