You’re like 400 years old today.
Stairs are terrible
and groups of loud, happy teenagers.

Music has changed in almost every way,
Metal is definitely out.
Punk is still ok,
but only in your car, in the summer
behind a pair of sunglasses you lost then found again.
On days like those you’re a 21-year-old kid again
Rich with potential,
greedy with it
The world’s most oblivious millionaires.

Everyone you knew when you were younger was writing
the next great American novel.
Too broke to buy paper,
but somehow never too far away from a case of beer.
Now those same people actually know how to file taxes
and buy shoes instead of sneakers.

Crossing your legs used to be kind of faggy
but somewhere along the way became ok to do.

Booze is better; darker
Although you drink too much of it now
and fall asleep before you’re supposed to.

You’re moving slower
and you’re cranky about gas prices
and the housing market.
and your pants that don’t fit
and in the end, time is to blame, really.
Time, and chocolate

Punk shows in the tiny room above O’leary’s,
the floor so greasy with beer and nestle quick
we had to hold each other up
and we did.