I’ve got a plan.
It’s a good plan.
It has secrets and contingencies,
and takes into account
several alternate scenarios.

The plan includes flowers on the piano
and coffee with cocoa powder.

Some of the plan
has room for expansion. I’m thinking of adding
a plan B if I can get a variance. I might have
to bribe someone, and I’ve built that into the plan
so that I may have the resources readily available
if it comes down to that.

Planning is a skill I had to learn on my own.
Some parts of the plan really stretched my abilities.
It’s good to do that, to have a plan that helps you grow,
even if it’s just a little.

I’ve kept the plan hidden in a secret room.
That was part of the plan too. It took me a while
to build it without getting a variance, having to keep it secret
was difficult, but I triumphed. I do that sometimes,
triumph. It’s rare, but it’s good to stretch yourself.

So now it’s time to set the plan into motion,
while I stare at the flowers on the piano, sipping the coffee
with the cocoa in it that masks the flavor of the secret part of the plan.
The whole thing is laid out over there on the desk to be admired
when the plan is at last revealed. It’s so good to stretch yourself,
and I will stretch myself out now, here on the couch,
secure in the knowledge
that I have at last done something industrious, admirable,
careful, thoughtful, detail-rich, fragrant with accomplishment.

It is possible that no one will discover the plan, of course, even after
my triumph is known to all.  They will think this was another random act
in a random life.  They will say it was ridiculous to think that after all the failure
I could have produced anything that required this level of focus and attention.
But they will not say the one thing that will strip their arguments down to absurdity:
that it was clearly something I had worked on for my entire life, out of their sight,
kept far away from what they expected of me.  There is nothing they can say
I have not planned for.