Maybe I'll have a family some day and put up a Christmas tree every year
Maybe I'll open up a studio called Phizzog and have a pet parrot named Cougar
Maybe I'll marry the love of my life and wake up to the sun peeking through my beach house window
Maybe I'll live to be 102 and be the crazy old lady with tattoos all over her body
Maybe I'll have a baby girl named Charlie and she'll create modern technology some day
Maybe I'll be a pro walrus trainer and I'll be famous all around the world
Maybe I will make people proud and I'll be super happy
Maybe I won't and I'll be miserable
Maybe I'll be poor and have a bunch of rad friends
Maybe I'll struggle, fake a suicide and change my name
Maybe I'll move to Nantucket and be apart of a pro sport team 
Maybe I'll find a place that makes me feel like I belong and I'll go to school, get smart, get what I need
Maybe I'll die young and get lucky
What have I gotten myself into

I was going to share a poem
today written by a famous poet
with brilliant use of language
great rhyme and rhythm,
funnier than a trunk full of elephants
wiser than a milliion monkeys
and the word phizzog no where to
be found.
But I left the book containing
this prize winner at home
sitting on my bed open to page 77
now that I'm on the internet
at the pretlow branch library
I can't remember the poet,
the poem, just a page number
and Garrison Keillor
must have been some good poem