Exiled from Main Street 2: Taking Stock

I’m on lap 34 and sucking air.

only 34 and can’t anyone spare a lung?
tonight it’s 34
and no I never will make it to Disney,
34 sucking wind
still wondering if not now, well, when?

34 always a full glass to forget the one that’s half-empty
34 a dog on the shelf

34 middle age without having ever matured
34 spider veins on top of acne
34 dark clothes for a dark horse and
time still no friend of mine

34 too old now for prodigy but somehow still too green
34 alive not so well but never really expecting to be
34 wish you were here, glad I’m not there

34 and another four until I become President
34 will we make it?
34 and still I’m stooping for votes
34 in search of a state that’s neither red nor blue

yes, 34, which doesn’t quite have the same ring as 33
maybe I should lie and say I’m
33 still hopeful there’s a place for me
no phd, so little to say it fits in my mouth perfectly

          Inspiration over Talent
          Instinct above Education
          Spirit before Intellect

only 33 and throwing out my hand while saying half-way isn’t as far away as it seems

33 and here we aren’t again
33 nor were you everything you were cracked up to be,

33, and none of that Paul Westerberg crap, not tonight,
now that you’re 34, still on the floor
34 a cheap suit with a nice fit

34, still a shit

34 bigger in the belly, holier of heart
34 do me the favor of not mentioning it

34 already with memos to the self on my own answering machine
34 changing lanes, switching gears, on the other side of seventy
34 and sure my teeth too yellow for billboards

34 knowing nothing, knowing this, that much,
tonight I turn 34 and never more
ready
for my picture.