“Tell me where would you like to be five years from now?”

It’s a standard question posed
at interviews and seminars, one
that swallows me whole into
glaring sheets of paper, pen at
the ready, its ball head scratching
out the reality of my aspiration-less
existence in congealed blue-black
ink blots, truth on display, empty,
thoughtless nothingness.

All I know for certain is
now, perhaps I am
jaded, hesitant,
to scribble pipe dreams on
a page that history has proved,
my history, that plans mean
nothing, because change has
the upper hand; the fates and
karma and this, “The best laid
plans…” you know. I am a
mouse, black eyes bulging,
nibbling nervously on
scrap, relieved to be
breathing. Don’t ask me to
consult my future self. I am
much too busy surviving
the moment.

~kat

For NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 11 Prompt: a poem that addresses the future, answering the questions “What does y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?” (Photo by Alexas_Fotos at Pixabay.com)