You are on the wrong side of thirty
You the white cliff of Dover
the passing of days the waves of the ocean
chipping away at you
wearing you down
You are on the wrong side of thirty
and maybe you’re starting to notice
your fleeing hairline
the creaking which starts in your ankles
and connects your milestones
to knees and back and neck
maybe you don’t see the point of getting out of bed today
or tomorrow
maybe your wife has started to let herself go
after the kid came
love handles and cellulite thighs
sagging **** and a birds nest atop her wrinkled face
You resent the kid
because for him
the world is so open
full of choices made on his fickle whim
while you wither away
giving every part of yourself
so one day he can be on the wrong side of thirty
and you can rest easily
on the wrong side of a grave
a wry smile stretching the skin of your corpse
*It’s your turn now you ungrateful *******