Ascend
No, not me. I went in the opposite direction.
Before
my twenty year high school reunion
I
sold my Alfa Romeo for a used Subaru
so
if anyone asked to see the odometer
I
could show them, say I’d seen the country,
seen
Tierra del Fuego. I massaged soil
into
my skin to accentuate the lines
around
my eyes. Made real wrinkles.
I
let one fingernail grow long
like
those mysterious foreign cabbies.
Just
hope no one asks about it.
Not
sure what to call what it adds
but
it adds it. I’m slowly becoming a man
with
experience. A shaman.
I’d
never sought this type of life
but
the one I’ve actually led is so
vacant
of intrigue, so expected.
My
novel’s been passed around to no avail,
my
guest lecturer spot four years ago
never
turned into a regular gig.
My
dog grooming business I sold off in 2010
barely
paid for my two bedroom.
The
three women I dated
all
left me to find husbands.
The
kickball team I captain
has
had only two winning seasons.
My
basset hound Nugget died of cancer.
My
shrink suspended our sessions
after
failing to convince me that I
catastrophize.
On top of all that
the
multi-vitamin is making me fart.
I
do hope they buy the shaman thing.
I
stopped shaving two weeks ago
and
I look pretty wise. But I miss the Alfa.
So
far no one’s dared ask about my pinky nail,
