RWP member Angie Werren invites us to write about the choice we didn’t make:
Everyday we make choices. Some are small: English breakfast or Lipton? the highway or back roads? Some are more significant: convertible or mini-van? farmhouse or condo?
Some choices lead us straight into the life we’re living, but for this poem, think about one of the things in your life you didn’t choose.
Be concrete. Pick an object — something tangible* — and write your poem directly to it, as if you were writing it a personal letter. Explain why you didn’t choose it. What could things have been like if you had? Talk about what your life has become without it. See where the “confession” takes you.
That is today's prompt and you will see I have followed it to the letter, each verse covers each one of the guidelines/instructions. Someone once told me I was very good at doing as I am told, and even though I hate being told what to do, most of the time, I have to agree they were right. I think this could well be because at times I'm too lazy to reinterpret.
I still remember your stories:
Union Carbide, Human Rights Act,
and who was that ship-yard lady who fought
for equal pay and pooh poohed pink toilet
paper? I’m glad I know about her.
But you know I couldn’t stay:
my family needed me,
and I could hardly justify
my Rumpole fantasy in the face
of a tangible wage increase
and our very own house.
We could have been good together
though, I know. You with your
connections, me in proper
tailoring and heels. Wielding
the weight of Goodfellow v
Stevens in hands with painted nails.
However, on the face of it
I can’t say I have regrets. I
may not have a corner office
or a smart Mercedes Benz. But
I get to mooch around in jeans
and call myself a poet.