What a relief it is, I must say, to have discovered my final poem (see previous post). Now that I've seen the culmination of my poetical development, I don't have to worry about such things. I'm not sure what I mean by that, but then, I rarely am sure about what anyone means by anything.
In case you're wondering how I came upon this poem of mine that won't be written for another 84 years, I'm sorry that I can't give you an explanation, lest I put the fabric of the spacetime continuum at risk. But if you must know, no, I did not use a DeLorean, har har. I used a 1970 Dodge Charger.
WHY DON'T THEY MAKE CARS LIKE THAT ANYMORE
Ahem. Anyway, I'm also relieved to know that I'll live to be 110 and a half. True, it appears that I'll die a slow death from starvation, apparently alone, somewhere in northwestern Mexico (or perhaps "Sonora" refers to the Sonoran Desert, which extends into present-day Arizona...), but at that age, who the hell cares! Am I right?
Although...what if the average life expectancy in 2092 is 140? Nooo! I was (er, will have been) too young! Oy, the worries, they never cease.