When I turned 30
my friends dumped me at a table
in a dark bar, ordered me a daiquiri.
I sat silently as they remembered
the old days—less than fifteen years ago.

When I got home, I broke
the bathroom mirror,
gathered the shards,
and watched a Dick Van Dyke Show rerun.
Laura Petrie would be cute
forever.  Joseph already preferred
PBS science specials to kissing.
Or did he?  I thought he did,
accused him of infidelity
which wasn’t true—

then.  Today I think about 30
and wonder why I got the glooms.
Life was good.  Or was it?
Memory has old scores to settle,
selects flavors that it craves,

leaves the rest.  I may make it to 90.
What will 60 feel like then?
The years speed up.  I’m walking
against traffic, no one slowing down.

—
Kenneth Pobo has a book forthcoming from Blue Light Press called Bend Of Quiet. His recent work has been in: Weber: The Contemporary West, Floating Bridge, The Queer South (anthology), and elsewhere.