after Amy Fleury
It seems I function more by habit than premeditated action,
not the kind worn by nuns,
formed by drug users, or broken by knuckle-crackers.
I keep on keepin’ on simply because inertia carries me through.
At crossroads common and fresh, a girl knows comfort
as sweatpants, white wine, tea, and books; routine
she finds as weekday contentment and productive
weekends, her mark of creativity.
But this is no tragedy of a boring regimen,
just the way days become weeks, months, and years.
Sometimes I step off my beaten path.
Sometimes I don’t care about plans and schedules.
I get ice cream on a Tuesday night,eating like only a girl like me can.
Today's poem came about thanks to several coincidences. First, napowrimo's prompt for today is to rewrite a famous poem. I've done this before with songs, but never a straight poem. What poem to use? Well, poetryfoundation.org's poem of the day, "At Twenty Eight," by Amy Fleury seemed appropriate...with a minor number change.