To study on the highest brows and drink among the low.
To plant your feet in roasting sand and contemplate the snow.
To hear Puccini all night long and wake up to The Who.
To watch a slate of foreign films but also Scooby-Doo.
To talk of football with the girls and fashion with the boys.
To fill your nooks with tools and books but leave yourself some toys.
To pace the alleys of Manhattan, stalk the Teton peaks.
To chase the wind at lightning speed then rest for weeks and weeks.
To dine on brie and caviar then order out for fries.
To work in foulest britches and proceed to suits and ties.
To leave your mental gates ajar, to shake the hand of chance.
To sing the open-throated life, and run, and fight, and dance.
First published in The Road Not Taken: The Journal of Formal Poetry
From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV