Next Year

Next year...

we always say next year
year after year
until...

next year is here.

And now our lives are measured

in months

in weeks

in days

hour by hour

second by second

until that final moment
when our eyes fly open
shocked at all we didn't do

...next year.

The Radio

I like to have the radio on while I cook.

It is comforting, like the voice of an old friend whispering in my ear,
telling me a new joke or the latest gossip
while I stir the pot and taste the sauce.

It does not intrude -
The radio does not demand I look at it
or write a reply back.
It just keeps talking, humming a tune
that makes me listen while I read the recipe.

And when I sit and eat my meal
the radio fills the quiet
while I fill my mouth, unable to speak.

I thought I'd offer the radio a taste,
ask it if it wanted some of what I had made
but just then it started taking about a diet
and I knew what its answer would be.