A New Year’s Poem

By Joe Cunningham

What is this time, 
The galaxy has deemed

To tell us all to stop

And dream about 300 some-odd days gone by,

And 300 something after?

After jotting down several lines

To better myself

To try

To make the things I want come about somehow

Not unlike any other day

I wonder:

What makes this time so different?

I thought a lot about the year:

The things I did,

The failures,

How far I’ve come;

It appears to me

It is both monumental and not

To stop and think

To assess one’s lot

And somehow be, in 365 days, better.

I dismiss the argument altogether.

Absolving no day, henceforth - in truth, I command:

Dear God help me be a better man.