We do not start
as doers.
It’s what we must
become.
First, we’re
sternly scolded
when the chores
have not
been done.
Next, we’re
praised for
school-work
and good deeds
in daylight.
Then, we’re
warned against
any
sordid acts
whilst
shrouded by
the night.
And if we grow,
we do our jobs,
our taxes, and
our best
to complete every
task at hand
while still finding
time to rest.
But even rest
is a thing to do
when no one
is around,
a box to tick
on the to-do list,
which has an end
that can’t be found.
The last box on
the doer’s list
must surely read
☐ to die.
But few of us
will skim so far
and those who do
go wry.
If only we
could learn to be,
but with so much
doing
to be done,
the best to do
is inhale slow
and
☐ exist
beneath this sun.
pm poetry 