"IF"

a poem from my upcoming book Small Comforts; published books are at inkwhisper.gumroad.com

If

If ifs and buts were candies and nuts
we’d all have a feast come Christmas.
No need for plans or sober regrets,
just sugar and salt in our wishes.

If maybe meant yes and later meant now,
we’d ride on dreams made of marzipan.
Excuses would melt like toffee on tongues,
and no one would need a plan.

We’d barter in fudge, make deals in delight,
toast to “someday” with cinnamon cheer,
build castles in clouds of spun-sugar might,
then watch them dissolve every year.

But life isn’t sweet, and buts still bite,
ifs just echo when the room gets quiet.
So eat what you have, not what might be,
and save your nuts for the riot.