they say it's coming in about 17 years. lord help us.

i'll be gone, but my kids, they'll have some

decisions to make. they may choose to throw 

caution to the wind, live a bohemian lifestyle, 

i hope they do, i hope they make enough money

to travel, to see all they can see, and meet

their fate with some semblance of peace and quietude.

they say it's coming next week. lord help us.

a week isn't much. i can't think beyond myself, 

what my kids will do, i don't know, i hope 

they come home for a final visit. but i going to

mow the lawn, balance the checkbook, put

the cat to sleep, then sit outside and read 

sherlock holmes, something i've meant to do for too long.

they say it's coming tonight. lord help us.

i'm thinking of taking up cigarettes then slitting

my wrists. but i know me, i'm too health conscious

for cigarettes and too squeamish for the razor.

i think i'll write two poems, one by otp about finding

love and the happiness that goes with it, and one

by jim, which briefly explores hypotheticals.