I Meant To
I meant to put those
sixty-three names
and email addresses
in the BCC blind copy
space, not the CC
copy space. I meant to
send it to him, not her.
I meant to swallow not
drool, on the computer,
my lap, your sleeve, my
arm, the floor, that first
edition, in the drawer.
I meant to walk and
move with that feline
grace someone once
said I had, not wobble
and stagger like an
old wino. I meant to
hit the “y” not the “t”
the “h” not the “g”
the “b” not the “v”,
return not send,
amends not amen.
I meant to stand up
straight not bend, to
sit upright not slouch,
to not fall down and
get stuck between the
couch and a hot pipe
that burned my back
like the prolonged
sting of a fierce slap.
I meant to stay twenty-
nine or forty-nine, not
be seventy-nine turn-
ing eighty in May this
way, drooling and
stumbling and un-
able to make a fist
with my right hand
or grasp a utensil in
the proper way but
instead need foam
additions to the
handles for my one
or two fingers that
can still curl without
help. I meant to be
the exception to
obviously aging or
a long gone legend
by now not a bent
over drooling old
man who still often
feels like a woman
inside, but I’ll accept
what I’m left with for
as long as I can and
still be grateful for all
that I’ve been and am.
—Michael Lally (C)) 2021
appeared on the Best American Poetry blog, 7 Jan 2022
and is included in Best American Poetry 2023 (Scribner, 2023)
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