Springfield, Massachusetts – A J Flanigan

Domestic idealism is a funny thing.

Sometimes, when I’m laying down

at three in the morning, watching a movie

instead of sleeping, or writing, or reading,

or, if I had passion, typing up and deleting

a message to some girl over and over again,

I think about who I’d like to be.

 

In fifteen years, wearing bifocals,

sitting cross-legged on a lounge chair

with herbal tea, and maybe whiskey,

am I holding someone in my arms?

Do I have a cat?

Is that someone an adult, or a little me?

I’d really like to take my son

or daughter to the Basketball Hall of fame one day.

I’d like to tell them about who

I looked up to

when I was their age.

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