I’ve often wished that I had clear,
For life, six hundred pounds a year,
A handsome house to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden’s end.
— Jonathan Swift, Imitation of Horace
I wish I were an extravert –
not so prim and not so curt.
Instead of mumbling, I would blurt
Out truths that now remain inert.
I wish I had the Internet
embedded in my brain,
then maybe I could forget
the memory of my pain.
I wish I’d win the lottery.
I’d go shopping at the Pottery
Barn and buy things for my daughter, E-
Dith who is neither old nor doddery.
I could fish.
A fresh trout
would be delish
without a doubt.
I wish I may, I wish I might
Turn all the colored people white
And turn the white folks into coloreds
And turn the smart ones into dullards.