I am evermore anxious that the future
is pure fiction, and yet I persist
in planning for it. When my son tells me
about the children he will have, I want
to shake him for thinking this hell is fit
for hopes and dreams. I don't. Instead, I smile
and stroke his head. His education
savings plan is growing nicely; it should
mature to six figures. He'll need it. Or won't.
The mortgages are getting paid ahead
of schedule. I'm installing a fifty-year
roof. By my calculations, the houses
should remain above water. They're building
a levee near the lowest-lying one.
All of this is likely crazy, but maybe
it beats doing nothing? I could always swerve.
Look for the fastball. Adjust to the curve.