The poems you were supposed to write
the stories you were supposed to tell
the lies you were meant to concoct
the empires you will never build
the books you haven’t read
the women that you should have loved
the battles you could have braved
the heights you always meant to reach
all of these
all are not
what you think of
when you near the finish line.

What you think of
– so I’m told
over and over
with great authority –
is how to avoid pooping your pants.

Mission abandoned.