Foresight is 20/200

And maybe in three years I’ll be twenty-five,

and living in an apartment somewhere.

Maybe Boston, or even Kentucky.

I’ll be poor, I bet, but I’ll probably be

a little heavier than I am now.

I’m sure I’ll have a beard still.

I wonder when I’ll start to get chubby.

I wonder when I’ll stop wearing silly T-shirts.

I wonder when my hairline will begin to recede.

I wonder when I’ll piss

my pants or lose

my teeth or need

a walker or forget

what my grandson’s girlfriend’s name is.

But in three years, maybe I’ll be in seminary.

(I really need to start looking into seminaries, don’t I?)

But maybe in 2015 I’ll be in one, studying

philosophy and theology and helping othersology,

learning about modalism and monalism and monism.

Maybe I’ll be able to cook by then.

I could come home from class and make a nice meal

from scratch and enjoy it while I cram for that exam tomorrow.

And then on Thursday, I could surprise my wife

with breakfast in bed for our eighth wedding anniversary.

And that weekend my son will be home from college,

so we’ll probably go out to that sports bar for a few beers.

But there’s no alcohol allowed

in the nursing home so if I get caught, I’m screwed.

And I’m fairly certain that in three years, I’ll still be single.

But who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone online,

or at a bar, or at church, or at a bookstore.

Maybe I’ll actually date like a normal adult instead of

a high school kid or college student.

Maybe she’ll be funnier than me – I bet she’ll be

smarter than me. And maybe brunette.

I’ll take her back to Williamsville and show her

Glen Park, Sorrentino’s, Arend Avenue,

and introduce her to Mom and Dad.

But Dad’s been dead for two years now,

and my wife’s been dead for twenty.

So I’m clearly confused about something.

I must be getting old.