I will walk down to a marina on a hot day and not go out to sea. I will go to bed and get up early, and carry too much cash in my wallet. On Memorial Day I will visit the graves of all those who died in my novels. If I have become famous I'll wear a green janitor's suit and row a wooden boat. From a key ring on my belt will hang thirty-three keys that open no doors. Perhaps I'll take all of my grandchildren to Disneyland in a camper but probably not. One day standing in a river with my fly rod I'll have the courage to admit my life. In a one-room cabin at night I'll consign photos, all tentative memories to the fire. And you my loves, few as there have been, let's lie and say it could never have been otherwise. So that: we may glide off in peace, not howling like orphans in this endless century of war. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLAD OF HUMAN LIFE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES CATTLE SHOW by CHRISTOPHER MURRAY GRIEVE THE SEA by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER L. OF G.'S PURPORT by WALT WHITMAN SONG: 1 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |