Unbothered at Forty
I stopped asking permission to belong.
My peace became more valuable than approval.
Not every friendship was meant to stay.
The right women found the real me.
Forty taught me to choose myself.
Stopped peace friendship real choose.
Inspired by: The Freedom of Forty (2026)
Unbothered at Forty
I stopped asking permission to belong.
My peace became more valuable than approval.
Not every friendship was meant to stay.
The right women found the real me.
Forty taught me to choose myself.
Stopped peace friendship real choose.
Inspired by: The Freedom of Forty (2026)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At dawn, your fingers
still trace the curve of my spine
like they're reading braille~
each scar, each shift in the landscape,
a sentence you know by heart.
You laugh when I steal the blanket,
when my knees find the hollows
behind yours, an old map
drawn without compass or reason.
Our fights are old books now,
their spines cracked open
to the same dog-eared pages~
we know the lines by heart,
but recite them softer these days.
We are two trees grown
into each other’s bark,
gnarled and weathered-together,
no longer remembering
which rings belong to whom.
Some loves are built like this~
not with grand gestures,
but with the quiet tyranny
of your coffee cup left warming
on my nightstand,
the way you hum off-key
in the shower, still, after all these years,
and I pretend not to hear it,
and you pretend not to know.
Forty-three autumns,
and your hands smell like sawdust
and onions, and I wouldn’t trade
our slow unraveling for anything~
not even the taut, bright thread
we once were.
It is 7:41 p.m.
we are in the middle of the forest
in a meadow, in the country, in Kansas
unnamed insects are cheeping and buzzing
my sixty-two-foot oak is singing with sounds
a half-moon is barely visible
the sky is light, not blue, not gray
my dog nuzzles my hand
he’s a baby, needing attention
fancies that I am his mama
my older dog waits for the puppy’s cue
dog next door is still making noise
in unison they begin their neighborly barking responses
I wait for nine thousand insects to descend on my head
thinking crickets, mosquitos, ticks and locusts
the cheeping and buzzing is louder now.
Two hundred and forty-nine years of freedom, away from our oppressors
Let’s celebrate big time with fireworks, friendship and food
Let your orange, white and greens fly high and proud
Pledge to protect peace, unity and diversity
India is here, India is cheer, we are one, strong and fit.
Twp hundred and forty-nine years of freedom, away from our oppressors
August the fifteenth is our day to fly our flags and shine.
To show that we value democracy and appreciate our freedom.
Patriotism will be in full swing, our food and friendships will flow.
We will show our pride in ourselves and each other.
Still working on my PhD. at the age of forty-three
though as a teaching assistant, all my schooling’s free
The problem is my thesis, I change it every year
for approval from my advisor, it must rhyme with his fav’rite beer
Would last year’s subject tickle your tibia?
“One-cell diets of 18th-century fireflies
that migrated to the north of Namibia”
But this year has me spellbound, the thesis is so perverse
It focuses on presidents – from Monica fellating Clinton
to what Lincoln did in his hearse
So, you are hereby invited to view my forthcoming dissertation
~ snicker and smirk at Oval Office ruination
~ NoBenny Fitu Sosighety
For the forty 3rd attempt
Of incline
A forty 3rd question unanswered
Los Angeles requires an accomplishment
As yet the roofs of wealth choir no challenge
Stilled in self wonder the share constants
Water and health in abundance, again
This execution remembers every faculty
Partners and sermons
Cost and boss
The build of document to spend
Little shadows of Washington fend
The framers of a Los Angeles hard at work
During war time
Without end
Preparing the give
Ready for another attack
That steal refuses its sound
Prefer of the city and cities charity
Suggest of intonation
None strate to the cause
America in Los Angeles only lensing past tense
Encampments of abandon
In a day of labor, no notes
No reservation
No surplus
Stevie is no aberration
Many spoiled forty-year-old men
Now live in mama’s basement
Playing video games all night
Sleeping all day while mama does their laundry
And makes their meals
I wake up already tired,
eyes heavy from screens and sleepless nights,
stomachs empty, wallets thinner than dreams,
parents fighting over bills, over nothing,
over everything.
at school, the hallways are battlefields,
words sharper than fists,
hands that shove, mouths that sneer,
judgment like a plague
spreading from locker to locker.
I scroll through images of perfection,
faces carved by filters, bodies built in mirrors,
wondering why I don't look that way,
why I don't feel that way,
why I don't fit at all.
I pull at my skin,
I whisper my names in secret,
I wonder if I should even be here—
this world that tells me
I am too much, or not enough,
so I start cutting.
I was born into a losing hand,
and nobody told me
that I could still bluff my way to something good.
Forty years ago, we said “I do”
You pledged to me, and I pledged to you
And in a fleeting moment’s span,
our journey through life began.
Our friendship over time has grown
Despite the curved balls, life has thrown.
God has His divine magic spun
Uniting our souls into one.
As we have grown closer to Him,
Our love was kept from growing dim.
His love for us makes ours strong
Even at times when things go wrong.
A better wife I could not find
One so affable and kind.
You have been patient with my faults
When my ego itself exalts.
As we start another year
We can do so without fear.
For the one who pilots our ship
He never falters, nor does he slip.
In this world engrossed in sin
May His light shine from within.
So, a soul forlorn and lost
Will be rescued from life’s frost.
Fourteen is yawnful and staring,
Lying around in pyjamas at noon,
Wondering, ‘What to do?’
Then scooping and gulping some sludge
From a tub in the fridge –
Until a parent full of peeves,
aged around forty,
Comes fuming and growling,
Banging and slamming
Until each glooms
In their room.
Fourteen and forty –
Leaving the cleaning-up
For tomorrow.
King Duncan wouldn't allow it
Chin sweat and air conditioning
Sending me into a linguistic shaming spiral
Flavoursome mints and sparkling water
Won't fix this wet nightmare
Telling the steps to SHUT UP
Sock sniffer
Chemical bomb leather shoes
Armpits oceaning
Give me Nigeria
Or the jungle
Where the birds don't sing
My wife has been reading The Return of the Native for ten years
But does owning an AK-47 count as knowledge?
To the bat cave
i feel haunted.
not by ghosts but by you.
everywhere i turn you are there.
sour candies and baby’s breath.
pink roses and backwards caps.
i am haunted by what you were to me,
how it will never be like that again especially.
oh to have that erased.
would it be a waste to have not felt it?
do i regret you?
us?
147 days.
one hundred and forty-seven days.
goodbye.
Forty percent was the chance it would rain,
Which is what my phone app was predicting.
I went for my walk with my eye to the sky,
But the darkening clouds were conflicting.
I had an umbrella which fits in the bag
Where I carry my water for drinking,
So I ambled on, getting further away
And I wondered just what I was thinking.
For, after a mile, rain came barreling down,
Without one little drop as a warning.
My umbrella unfurled, I retraced all my steps,
Cutting short my full exercise morning.
Though my sneakers were dripping, as well as my socks,
I got home with just minimal stressin’
But I have to remember my phone often lies,
Which is really a valuable lesson.
[Not strictly limericks as syllable count is out,
But hey… be a rebel… ignore the rules!]
_______________________________________
I met the young lady from flat forty-five
I told her, “Your beauty makes me feel alive.”
She said, “My name’s Lexi.”
Her voice was SO sexy
My heart beat as though it was in overdrive
She took no persuading to give me a kiss
And then she said, “I bet you want more than this.”
My ardour was stirred
A lot more occurred
And my whole life became an ocean of bliss
The feelings we nurtured in flat forty-five
Instilled in me romance that surely would thrive
She patted my sleeve
And said, “You should leave,
My next client is about due to arrive.”
Downhearted, I made my way down to the street
I felt worse than Bonaparte when he was beat
Until she called down,
“Don’t go off with a frown,
Podiatrists, like me, just do people’s feet”
Well that tipped the scales and put wind in my sails
I rushed up those stairs like a steam train on rails
And soon, side by side
I got me a bride
I also got soft feet with manicured nails
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