The fork in the road (Poem #92)

When I look at you:

I see a house on the hill,

with a fence,

a dog,

and two little girls,

squealing with joy as they swing,

knowing you will soon e home,

and there is nothing to fear,

because you breath security,


and a guarantee comfortable future,

no bumps or bruises,

or monsters under the bed,

you radiate the world I have always wanted in my head.

Yet when I look at them:

I see fire and lights shows,

Saturday  night raves,

nights I won’t remember,

and times I slept for days,

struggles to get by,

and small apartment with the faint smell of weed,

an unexpected child,

who rides through public school,

was never handed the world,

and fell down,

got bruised, punched and kicked in the stomach,

but always had a rough, caring hand to help them back up,

it isn’t perfect or pretty,

but it sure is a sight.

Looking back and forth,

ti becomes very clear,

these are two options for my life,

but which one I want more,

I can’t quiet decide.