Old Men In Sports Cars
I just finished flipping the calendar to March
I keep a paper one hanging on my kitchen wall
despite everything being digital
I’m old school some would say
How is it each day I’m at work every minute I'm there
passes like an old woman with a walker running a marathon
while months and years fly by like fighter jets breaking the sound barrier
Life is like that ride at the amusement park shaped like a silo that spins
slowly at first, the velocity incrementally increasing
until the world becomes a blur
finding yourself pressed against the wall by an unseen force
unable to move a muscle without exerting extreme effort
My birthday is a little more than two months away
I don’t feel old or look anything like I imagined (and feared) I would
when I was in my early twenties and forty seemed like such an ancient age
I'm older than my parents were when they became grandparents
making my entrance into this world when they were only teenagers
in the early hours of that late May morning
I was a bit older though too young as well
when I took up the mantle of mother
When you have no hope you cling to anyone that pays attention
in order to feel you have any worth
that you matter to someone even if only for a few precious minutes
I’m reminded of men I’ve seen who are likely in their sixties
their silver hair, if they have any at all, blowing in the wind
as they race down the road behind the wheel
of a brand new expensive sports car they had aspired to own
since they were sixteen but can only now afford to buy
who will soon find themselves waking up to the fact
that some dreams left unfulfilled for too long grow stale
realizing it isn't the thrill it would have been back then
when women would have paid equal attention to both car and driver
each complimenting the other instead of such a stark contrast
reselling it a year or two later concluding it’s not worth the expense
investing those funds in a pre-paid funeral and life insurance
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