Year 2: Day 107 – Too Old

Wut is this,
back muscles?
Oh hey, ow.

Reaching to the shelf,
this isn’t supposed
to hurt.

Wut did I do,
oh wut have I done
to get sore?

Kiddin’ me,
two days ago-
tried to get across
the monkey bars.

Come on now.


Year 2: Day 72 – Corncob

You keep comin’ to the same old place
’cause it doesn’t ask much of you,
it doesn’t need your full cooperation
to make you feel the best it can do.

And most of the time when you look around
you’re politely returning a smile you don’t want
in the first place, shaking a hand you don’t want
to touch, mouthing words you don’t hear.

But you’re still suckin’ on a corncob,
lookin’ at the door;
the party’s long been over
and there won’t be any┬ámore.

But it’s cold outside and it’s warm in here,
at least, ’til they lock the doors,
and no one needs you to love it here
’cause they know where you were before.

So you’ll keep comin’ to the same old place
so long as they don’t ask much of you,
ten years still suckin’ on a corncob
like it’s all you ever knew.

Year 2: Day 65 – Things Worth Saying

When you’re young and you don’t recognize cliches,
everything you have to say is brand new
and so important because no one’s ever said it,
and you’re pointing out all these things
like teenage Seinfeld:
“How has no one noticed that coffee
just makes you more tired? Am I right?!”

And then you get to where I am now
and think you can tell people
what it’s like to be past all that
like young Buddah,
or some wise geezer in a twenty-something body:
“When you’re young and you don’t recognize cliches,
everything you have to say is brand new.”

But I’ve been listening around for the ones
who actually have something worth saying,
and I’m not sure but I think
they’re quiet for a reason.
I think it must be like
shrinking exponentially:
the more you want to say,
the shorter your sentences,
until you’re gone.

And blabbermouths will blubber
around your grave
and you’ve got the ultimate
reigning silence
and it doesn’t bother you.