No Resolutions

I don’t make resolutions,
take annual ablutions,
pledge to lose weight
or be a better mate,
watch less TV than before,
work harder,
be smarter,
take fewer naps
or spend less time on apps.
I don’t think this once-a-year reflection
and attempted annual correction,
will perfect my imperfection,
and set me on my path again.
For life is not a bowl of fresh starts
and second chances,
letting loose of old baggage
and making sharp advances,
re-boots and do-overs,
miraculous crossing overs,
nor a sudden reinvention
while breaking with convention.
The future is a tangled thread,
not some straightened road ahead.
It doubles back upon itself
and won’t sit easy on the shelf.
It’s all tied up with lives we live,
the things we did and can’t forgive,
the scenes that form the larger story,
filled with tragedy and with glory,
wove with meaning and with hope,
it gives us strength with which to cope,
and dresses in resilience.
So you won’t find me
with flutes of bubble-ly,
ringing in the New Years,
blowing horns and making cheers,
chasing out the old
while standing in the cold,
watching the big ball drop
beneath the sky’s starry top.
I’ll be tucked in bed by ten,
knowing that if and when
I rise, it all begins again,
like every other day.

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