Buck(et)ing the Trend

I am deeply opposed

to the whole idea of bucket lists –

also goal-setting and all other

kinds of rah-rah geeing-up.

Instead (and in protest)

I have devised

an empty-the-bucket list:

things I can cross off

as no longer ever

having to do.

The older I get, the more

I can dismiss. The ageing body

means no-one, not even

my somewhat-indoctrinated self

(it’s hard to altogether escape

prevailing social opinion)

has any hope of persuading me 

into stuff I really cringe from.

E.g. I never never never, now,

need to sky-dive, bungee-jump,

or plank. I needn’t even

try to climb mountains.

I am not obliged to

master Spanish,

let alone Japanese.

I need not even begin them.

I have travelled 

and I loved it, but now

I may enjoy the view 

from my armchair.

(The trouble with travel

is not the places, but

getting through the airports. Ugh!

Now I can eschew them –

and also congratulate myself

on not-flying being kinder 

for our beloved planet.)

I don’t have to dress for success,

nor to please any male eye 

any corporate code, any 

fashion rules for older women.

I can look like a hippy if I want to,

or a slob, or just someone

over eighty with an imperfect body

and a love of colour and comfort.

I don’t have to read any book

because it’s worthy – only

if it’s fun and gorgeous and I want to.

Nor see any movie ditto.

I am excused from engaging 

with Serious Ideas,

or having my emotions harrowed

in the interests of confronting

The World As It Is. Believe me, 

I’ve done enough confronting.

I don’t have to rub my nose 

in that stuff any more, 

to know how bad it smells.

It’s far too late to become

a Perfect Mother,

a Great Beauty,

a Good Cook – or even 

a half-way decent gardener.

(Two of those things I never ever

really wanted to, so there! 

I do like eating good food

and seeing beautiful gardens;

I just don’t want to be the one

to have to create these delights.)

It’s lovely to sit back, relax,

and contemplate all the things

I never have to do, 

tossing them blithely

out of that damn bucket.

Written for Friday Writings #80 at Poets and Storytellers United, where we are invited to write about something on our bucket list. Our word limit is 369 (excluding title). I was gratified to find that when I'd finished this outpouring with very little tweaking, it came to exactly 369 words!