Tonight's Poet Corner: More Time

More Time
by Belinda Roddie

I could have easily used
another week or two to stretch
my legs and go stargazing,

or drive to the coast and forget
that I actually don't like the beach
for a day. Or perhaps a month

to try new recipes for chocolate pie,
or dishes with zucchini and cheese,
or mocktails with a curled lemon twist

like a chewed off fingernail. Or s'mores
heated over the stove because it's too
fucking dry in the state to start a fire outside.

And then I could go to the piano bar
in the city every Sunday without
worrying about the banshee screech

of my alarm, my lips so close
to kissing the microphone rather than
wrapped up in gauze

in too crowded of a classroom. Or
would I really have done any of that,
in the end, or would I have just dreamt it?