Poems

The List

The girl sits at the table, notebook open, pen in hand
Each day the same, the same, the same, so hard to understand
How one so bright could stumble, stagnate
Scribbling lists and lists and lists, yet unable to open the gate.

Must get out, scream and shout, find myself a job
Make some friends, avoid the bends, Christ I'm such  a slob
Must get out, scream and shout, got to get a job
Where to go, what to do, must not cry or sob.

The world's my oyster so they say, so this time I must go
Check the list, clench my fist, onward onward but no
Not quite ready yet, must be sure and certain
Another day, another list, is this the final curtain?