We have taken to making lists around here. Lists are a good way to remind one of things that need to be accomplished in your life. I should have listened to my mother and made a list after I graduated college. Anyway…we have a list for King Kullen. This week we already need olive oil, balsamic vinegar, bread and soy sauce. (King Kullen is a frustrating and wonderful place to shop. I have written volumes about the odd horrors I have witnessed there.) We have a list for Wal-Mart. (Wal-Mart is a fine store, that has great prices on dog food, personal hygiene products and toilet paper, but never enough open cash registers.) We have a list of home improvements this old house requires. (I need more money so I can hire a painter, a carpenter, an architect, an electrician and a plumber. Or…money to buy the entire set of Time-Life Home Repair Encyclopedias I saw advertised at 2AM last night. Oh…I also need money for…a flat screwdriver. I’m tired of using a dime to repair my television set.) We have a list of the movies we want to see, the books we wish to read and the music we should try listening to. (Help! I need more money! or a key to the back door at Barnes and Noble’s warehouse. No…really…I’ll bring them back when we’re done. I promise.) We have a list of what we need to do to advance our collective careers as poets and recording artists. (When you stop laughing, please buy a copy of our live CD. I’ll autograph it for free.) If you have not noticed, while you were listening quietly this poem has become a list. A list of the lists we have magneted to the front door of our refrigerator. Lists that neither expand or shrink. Lists in perpetuity. Infinite lists. Lists that when one thing is smilingly crossed away another, is frowningly added to the bottom of the paper. At the end of my life, will I need to make a list? 1. Die (cause to be determined) 2. Ride in hearse. 3. Ride the embalming carousel…Weeeeeeeeeeeeee! 4. Make final appearance with rouged cheeks, crossed hands and solemn expression. 5. Listen to a bad speech by a member of the clergy I have never met. 6. Ride in hearse. 7. Have friends and relatives give me a final lift to the graveside. 8. Ride the manually operated casket elevator down approximately six feet. 9. Wait…for the worms to arrive with forks, knives and little plastic white bibs like what they give you when you go to Red Lobster. 10. Become skeletal and wait for the archaeologists. Lists…are good. Lists…are bad. Lists…are ugly. Lists…are not spaghetti westerns starring Clint Eastwood.
THE MIND ATTIC 