And live in the mornings <br />While the seasons project themselves <br />On to the panes of Billy’s windows. <br />I want to walk downstairs <br />for fresh coffee, <br />drink from heavy clinky cups <br />and smoke sweet cigarettes <br />before and after breakfast. <br /> <br />I want to dance across wooden floors <br />While LPs slowly spin and play <br />‘Nights in the Gardens of Spain’. <br /> <br />I’d write perfect poems <br />As freely <br />as my wife <br />writes <br />shopping <br />lists. <br /> <br />I’d fix lunch, <br />Invite friends who have other friends <br />Who write poems. <br />And I’d need them no more <br />Than they’d need me. <br /> <br />And as I sit <br />Amongst my memos, <br />My questionnaires <br />And my policies for adoption, <br />I open up my book of Billy’s poems <br />And wonder what people might think <br />If someone caught me lazing about like this.<br /><br />Colm Flanagan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-want-to-be-billy-collins/
