It’s Thursday
Already
And I’m late
And it’s October
Already
And it’s New Years
And spring break
And October again
And I am reminded of When Harry Met Sally
“And I’m going to be forty. When? Someday.”
Only I’ve not been forty for forty years
Because I’m eighty
And I’m dead like the rest of ‘em.
But rather than cry
It makes me smile, wonder
Where did the magic come from?
That single second of unreasoning inspiration
Fueled by adrenalin and cigarettes
Maybe sex and coffee, alcohol and emotion
That kept me up all hours of the night
Not wanting it to end
Warding off sleep = death
