• Wonder

    Will I be trick-or-treating at the age of fifty-four,
    Freakishly screaming for candy all alone at your door.

    Will I be an Amish sheep herder who lives in Maine,
    Yelling orders at my woolen towels, neighbours thinking I'm insane.

    Will I be pushing my children in their toboggans down a snowy hill,
    Going home for hot chocolate, we're all frozen still.

    Will I be having someone who will care for me when I'm useless and old,
    friendships that lasted, memories of gold.

    Will I be supporting my daughter through dancing for tips,
    being forced to kiss strangers, their rough perverted lips.

    Will I be obsessed over image, drowned in the mirror,
    no matter how I change myself, happiness never coming nearer.

    Will I be huddled under a home, made of a blanket and sticks,
    With my children in their fort, inside our real home made of bricks.

    Will I be a nomad roaming the desert alone with my mammals,
    Needing someone to talk to, like humans I dress my camels.

    Will I be on the top of the world when I'm diagnosed with cancer,
    crying in prayer for help, brought to the grave with no answer.

    Will I be so blessed as to find my God given soul mate,
    Our only issue being language, we use Babblefish to translate.

    Will I be smiling even when I don't have much,
    Just my haggard hair, a shopping cart and a sidewalk to touch.

    Will I be happy