It’s Friday and this is
how it feels to grow up:
a low-end tinnitus, creeping
up and lying in my head
until I sit up in my bed,
fumble around for
my glasses by
my bedside
and try to make
sense of anything.
At this hour--11, not
so impressive--I would
accept understanding any one
thing at all. I stand at
the side of my bed
for four minutes,
glass shakes,
heavy bass,
I wonder how
one man, alone
could pull off all of
the sheets, mattress
cover, and pillow cases.
It’s even more puzzling now,
I only have the fringes of
dreams left and they
have lost all color
and I have lost
most sight.
I’m at dinner
with some friends
drinking club soda and
something else, it’s strong
and numbing. I could use one
now I think, I yawn, and go
back to the the dream,
where it’s late, it’s
a party, and it’s
someone’s
birthday.
We’re mostly
happy; I’m irate
and I want to shout
about something I can’t
remember. It’s quiet. I rave
and festively air my complaints
about my friends, about the
death of our dreams,
about death itself,
and look around
at all of us
we’re not old
yet, and we’re not
young either. Something
has passed us, though, and I
am furious. I rave and look around
as my alarm goes off again, I
look over the top of my
glasses--11:09--and
I’m not getting
any younger
standing here. I
dress hastily. It’s Friday.
This is how it feels to grow up.

08/21/2009

Author's Note: I wanted to write this 14 days ago.

Posted on 08/22/2009
Copyright © 2024 Jason Wardell