The sun is shining down on me, laying warm fingers along my legs.

My puppy is chasing an ant, as a lion chases a gazelle.

Lemonade in one hand, pencil in the other.

My backpack is sprawled across the dark wood deck,
Recently built by my father, his prized work.
And I feel as if that bag keeps crawling closer,
A silent reminder that time is slowly creeping towards me.

But as the project lies within reach of my left hand, all I can think of
Is what my future holds.
Certainly not this project at this rate.

Will get into a good college? Will my team win our next game?
Will my children’s children want to watch Christmas movies by my side
As I did with my grandmother?
Or will I live my life, surrounded by cats?
Good morning, Boots, Fluffy, and Cookie.

This project keeps eyeing me; I swear it is taunting me,
For it knows that tonight, late in the witching hour,
I will finish her as I do this poem,
And she will laugh at me, for
Her future is a definite, unlike mine.