Driving 51 North to Pittsburgh,
I saw the graffiti chalked on the underpass:


Things to do:
1. Kill Satan
2. Free Larouche
3. Buy milk


At last! I thought,
someone who thinks like me!
No, it’s not that I want
to kill Satan or free Larouche,
it’s that list—the things
we want to do each day,
how do you make it?


When you stop and realize
that even Satan-killers
need to think about milk,
it really takes you back.


And what should my list be
on an average day in this aching world:


1. Kill Rush Limbaugh
2. Find a cure for AIDS
3. Buy chocolate


Sounds just as stupid as the Larouche thing
—that’s my point—
Like when I was driving home
after teaching a class on meter
in poetry, and feeling pretty good
about it, too—Terry Gross
had to come on Fresh Air and talk
about gangs in L.A.—and my list
for the day, which had been:


1. Prepare for class
2. Go work out
3. Meet Carole at Ali Baba’s


—my list became silly, shallow—
and why was I on the planet anyway
and what was my real list?


Like the time I met my husband
for lunch downtown, and, you know,
we were in the mood for Italian, something
with fresh basil and garlic, as we walked
past the YMCA on the way to Oxford Center,
there was a woman and her child wrapped
in dirty pink blankets, lying smack
against the wall with mounds of brown
paper bags around them, and what was I
thinking about—


Your list? None of
my business—but I’m asking.
Have you found a way
to walk around the world, have you
found a way to negotiate the pain? And
where do you hold it, the pain, and please,
if you find that list, scratch it
on the underpass next to Satan, and
leave your name, please,
leave your name.

Listen to a reading of the poem.