When you’re my age
you worry a lot more
than you should.
You sit alone, starring
at an ever-blackening sky
and notice there are other
windows with lights on at
five in the morning.
You suddenly realize
all of the new trees
in the neighborhood
you lived in as a child.
You wish your drive to work
were fifteen minutes longer
so you could hear a few more
songs on the radio.
And you wish you could
just say, “Fuck It”,
and drive around the block
a few more times
with the windows down
and your hair blowing
in your face.
And you wish you could sit
under each of those trees
with a glass of iced tea
and absolutely nothing to do.
And you want so badly
to toss pebbles
at the lit windows to find out
if the people inside would
like to talk over a cup of coffee
as badly as you would.
And you wish you could just
stop worrying and realize
that life is what life is
and worrying isn’t going to
change anything.
But then you realize that people
just don’t do these sorts of things
when you’re my age.