28

I deduct the years of my failed marriage

From the age on my birth certificate

 

So now I’m only 28

Just 28 years old

Despite the rust and wear and tear

I’m only 28 today

 

That worrisome bald spot has disappeared

Beneath this cascade of golden locks I’ve unleashed

So I jump back

Performing spoken word in raucous rooms

Sending letters to imprisoned anarchists

Listening for music, everywhere

In the wind

 

My friends are many

Across the globe, on Facebook

Or down the street, in person

 

I work the smartphone to mensa beats

Multiple conversations going all at once

Cryptically commenting

Posting

Everywhere and nowhere

Ubiquitous buzz

 

There’s a lot to do

Before I hit thirty again

And once more can’t be trusted

 

Busted

 

 

David Trudel  © 2012