Karl Klockars

The plane is going to crash, with her in it.
She’s going to get lost in New York.
She’s going to stay in New York.
The plane is going to crash on the way back.
The El is going to crash with her coming downtown.
She’s going to dissapear.
She’s going to get shot.
I’m going to get shot.
My hair is going to fall out.
The car is going to break down.
She’s going to get stuck on the side of the road.
She’s going to get lost on the way to the Mitten.
A truck’s going to hit her head on.
This train is going to crash.
This guy is going to shoot me.
This train is going to be late.

We’ve forgotten some very important things.
We’ve forgotten that we’ve forgotten them.
There won’t be enough money.
There won’t be enough room.
There won’t be enough money for the room.
Someone will say “Stop!”
She will say there’s someone else.
I will make a terrible mistake.
She will not show up.
The folks will not have the ring.
The church will burn down.
The hotel will close.
People will get lost.
The time zones will change.
The sun will re-align its orbit.

My friends will be late.
My friends won’t show at all.
I’ll cut myself shaving.
The pictures will look bad.
No one will want to show up.
My friends will think it’s a waste of time.
I will accidentally not shave before hand.
I will forget what to say.
I will cry.
I will not cry.
I will drop something, wet myself, or pass out.
My brother will swear during his toast.
The rehearsal dinner food will be crap.
The lack of an open bar will make my friends mad. And sober.

I won’t have all my work done.
I will fail out of everything.
I’ve forgotten what days my work is due.
I’ll have no motivation to finish it.
I’ll have no time to finish it.
I’ll be ruining my educational career.
I won’t have a job.
I’ll never have a job.
I’ll never have benefits.
I’ll have to sweep floors and dig ditches.
I’ll have to work overnights.
We’ll have to move in with the parents.
We’ll have to go back to the suburbs.

The car will explode on the drive back.
We will lose all the gifts and have to use plastic silverware.
The apartment will have been burgled when we get home.
The cat will have starved.
The mail will have backed up.
The light will have fallen over, starting a huge fire.
The sewers will have backed up into the bathroom.
The apartment will be haunted.

I’ll do something stupid.
She’ll leave.
I’ll have justified the fears of my friends and family.
I’ll be a statistic.
I’ll be a failure.
I’ll be successful and it will negatively affect my relationships.
People don’t understand me.
No one will care.
This is all a big joke.
This is all a test.
I’ll get fat.
I’ll lose a limb, or my mental faculties.
I’ll fall into the lake and drown.

These are the things I worry about.
Please note I haven’t mentioned a thing about flowers.
Oh, I forgot one: “People will think that this is stream of consciousness beat poetry and think I’m a beatnik hippie.” That one might be the worst of all. I’m going to start calling people cat and snap my fingers a lot – maybe if that one comes true I won’t sweat the rest.