The Anti Bucket List

There are life coaches who insist
That each of us should make a list
Of places fair and meals exquisite
That we intend to eat or visit
Of all the things we want to do
Before our days on earth are through

Perhaps this is some sound advice
Don’t get me wrong—such lists are nice
But not as worthwhile undertaking
Or helpful as the list I’m making
I’m writing down; before I die
A list of things I’ll never try

So heed my words, if you’re disposed to
And hear the things I won’t get close to

I won’t attend an LA rave
Or spelunk in a bat-filled cave

I won’t conspire with any crooks
Or tell my wife how THAT dress looks

I won’t draw three cards to a flush
Or Facebook with a High School crush

Or turn away when someone needs me
Or ever bite the hand that feeds me

I won’t decline a fine cigar
Or let Mel Gibson drive my car

Or try to burn a book that’s holy
Or double-dip in guacamole

Or play a proper noun in Scrabble
Or ever miss a day of Drabble

Or ever cuss my dear old Granny
Or let Ms. Allred near my nanny

Or (this is how the poem ends)
Let Bob Woodward near my friends

© 2010 Tarzana Joe