At night, when I’m restless,
I make up a list of things.
Of things I wish I could do,
Of places I wish I could go.
Not of regrets of days past,
Though they creep into my mind.
I try to think of what I’ve done
To make someone else’s lot better,
Or what I haven’t done to make it worse.
I’ve never toilet-papered a house,
Never doorbell ditched an unpleasant surprise.
Mostly, I’ve done nothing too bad.
I’ve never broken curfew without asking to stay out late,
Or lied about where I was or who I was with.
When I was younger I didn’t cheat on math tests
Or stick gum on the underside of tables.
I didn’t cut class when there was a horrible sub,
Nor switch names and desks.
I’ve never insulted anyone on purpose,
Killed anyone’s pet when I was pet-sitting,
Made a fool of someone in front of a crowd,
Or spoken too loud at a play.
In movies I’m quiet; I obey all the rules,
I haven’t yet killed someone for hurting me.
I’ve never done drugs,
Or stolen from a drug store,
Or cut out part of a race,
Or not returned a library book on time.
I discover as I make my list that there’s a lot I haven’t done
But, what’s important now is where I decide to go from here.