"Today," says Glo/NaPoWriMo, "we challenge you to write a poem that takes the form of a warning label . . . for yourself!"
How Much Better Could You Have Lived Your Life
You smoked—nicotine, that is—at fourteen.
Your first hangover happened three years later.
How many times
have your wings been singed by the flames of addiction?
have you lost/gained/lost/gained/lost/gained weight?
have you wished you'd done things differently?
No matter what you're doing, you're distractible.
Can't put an old head on young shoulders.
Too soon old, too late smart.
There are not enough aphorisms to save you.
|Here I am with a deck of Aunt Nancy's smokes. I'd have used this photo had I found it first!|