Maybe she'd just meow.

Or maybe she'd still be mute after all.
Perhaps give us the silent treatment
out of sheer spite.

She could become a feline AIDS activist.
Or a foul-mouthed comic, Margaret Cho style.
I bet she could tell us where Osama is.
Maybe campaign for President
of her own fan club. Go on Oprah.
Turn down Charlie Rose.

She might suck cock. She might not.
She might just say that she does.

She could snack on live Smurfs.
Wash them down with dry martinis.
Then vomit just to see what it feels like.
Or she might simply prefer kibble.

But she'll certainly need major dental work.
A whole set of teeth. Though she might not find
a veterinarian willing to take on such a job.

She could pop pills, blow smoke rings,
whistle, yodel, sing opera, rap. Or play herself
in a made-for-television movie. Win an Emmy!
Or complain bitterly when she doesn't.

She'll definitely ask for a real name:
I mean, come on, Hello?
Then curse her creator
for silencing her all these years.

She might visit mall after mall
to spit at the rows of plastic merchandise
depicting her freakishly mouth-less face.
Show up in court to demand a piece of the action.
Then—hold a CNN press conference
to offer a public Goodbye to all those little girls
who worshipped her so long.

And sure, she might secretly want them
to beg her not to leave.
But she'll know she's done right
when they so cheerfully say nothing,
nothing at all.




so that in old age I might. . .

ever coordinate my outfits
(complimenting even those of roommates and random houseguests passing through)

so that I might. . .
always reside with someone a full generation older
to alleviate the press of feeling next in line

so that I will. . .
first see the generosity in my slutty, bitchy and stupid friends
(or first be seen as generous—if I am the slutty, bitchy or stupid friend)

so that I can. . .
resolve any life dilemma in a span of 30 minutes
minus commercials, credits and theme song (Thank you for being a. . .)

so that I might. . .
just once say, "I'll be out on the lanai."

so that I could. . .
employ a gay house boy (even if it's just for one season)

so that I might. . .
embody Bea Arthur or at least live with someone
with balls like hers

so that I can. . .
call upon an unending supply of cheesecake
for every romantic crisis or bout of self doubt

so that I will. . .
have someone to eat that cake with in the middle of the night
without being reminded of blood sugar
and skyrocketing cholesterol

so that I might. . .
click through my living room in heels too high for my age
never once slipping on the terra cotta tiles and breaking a hip




                —for Kimberly

As your Grandma says, brush your teeth and eat your vegetables.

But also eat sushi (brown not white rice)
and wild salmon galore—for your health and skin.
As for drugs and cigarettes . Need I?
Alcohol—only for happy occasions (to avoid dependency).
And drink water between rounds:
Stagger cocktails so you won't stagger.
Remember when I broke my ankle?
Don't tell your grandmother.

Wine for dinners and deep conversations.
You will have deep conversations, right?
Hopefully with a circle of international friends.
Learn a second, third, fourth language.
Travel outside the country. Inexpensively.
(Get to Barcelona.) And educate yourself always.
A Bachelor's can be tough but do-able (with the right major).
Then Master's is cake: all those people with the same passion.
Have passion. Lots.

Career always before love.
Achievements don't dissolve like relationships.
Long engagements—if you choose marriage.
And no children before 30.
Consider adoption: good kharma/no stretch marks.
Walk or swim half an hour daily
especially if you settle in the suburbs.
But you won't settle in the suburbs, will you?
Try a city with a country home or summer share,
preferably on the shore. Wear sunscreen.

When you're down—it's natural sometimes—
therapy before pills. (Remember Judy Garland.)
Cry until you're bored with it.
Turn to friends if boredom doesn't lift.
Like your Grandpa says, Your friends are a mirror.
You chose them. Not that the grump has any.
Family is not your fault. Or accomplishment.
(Though you can take credit for me if you like.)

Never blame your parents. (Too Mommie Dearest.)
Society requires no certification for parenthood.
Hate them (or society) if you need. Don't blame.
Remember your grandparents, uncles, neighbors.
And the aunt who took you in. Pass it on.
Be what you wanted your parents to be.
(I try to be the uncle I always wanted.
Am I close to your version?)

Know every dark moment of your childhood—
even your mother's blackouts,
even her trading you for (permenant?) rehab—
is testimony to your strength, not God's cruelty.
Expect God's cruelty. Skate, write,
dance it away when it arrives.

Continue to save spiders and snails
from bratty neighbor boys' pestilence.
Take it up a notch. Befriend a queer
or overweight kid. Learn from their journeys.
Stick up for them when they can't.
Find your own style. Avoid trends.
Read. Observe nerds and unconventionals.
(Be a nerd or unconventional.)
They will go somewhere. Go with. At least visit.
(So few "cool" kids become "cool" adults.)

Love and be loved before having sex.
Then do what you like. You'll have learned the differences.
Enjoy your body. Protect it. No guilt
for wanting, seeking, attaining pleasure.
And don't tell your Aunt I told you that.
No. Go ahead—tell her. Ignore all rules for women.
Remember most men are following rules too.
They're just less likely to know it.

Don't believe in Hell or any religion
that believes in Hell or its equivalent.
Study all religions. Cut and paste.
Find Nature, Art, Humanity, Charity.
Do Yoga. Fear the God-fearing.
Drive across country. Expose yourself
to the unexposed: scary but crucial exposure.
Get involved in politics instead of complaining.
If you're not complaining, you're not thinking.
Think of your little sister!
Make a life-long love-pact with her.
Expect some disappointments. Don't hold grudges.
Tell her to "fuck off" in the moment
and look forward to hard but true reconciliation,
surely better than harmony laced with latent anger.

Always say what you think. Just at the right time.
Ask for what you want. Accept help with gratitude.
Work hard for what you need, harder
for what you desire (it won't feel like work).
Give advice only through example. And never upon request.
And don't take any from friends or—worse—family.

In fact, don't take mine.
Why are you even listening? Are you listening?
Good. Do what you want, what calls you.
Own but don't let it possess you.
Just please wear sunscreen while doing it.