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Hump Year Blues for MRW

Posted to Poetry




Hump Year Blues

Only the Rattlesnake: nefarious blues reptile,
would give Bukoswski for a birthday
(but I had dreaded this day for months)
And I woke up thirty
Sure enough
certified last chance for adulthood in this culture

Jim Erwin
Blind old scotch bastard
lika father to me peering
through spectacles thick
as a drunken tongue
told me: "If you don't make it by the time yer thirty---
fergit it."
So that made me run like hell for a time--
being twenty seven or so
What is this "making it?"
Does that mean your pecker is forever enshrined
in some Glass Temple Vaginal
Juiced Eternal Twat Monument?
Do they freeze your seed for some Lucky Mother
yet unborn
when you make it?
Do you get embalmed in pleasure, a mummy wrapped in
property?
How do you know when you make It?
Is it a little gray-suited clerk from the government
withletters you have to sign for?
Do vioins swell on the soundtrack?
I think I made it several years ago when
those Mexican kids left 8 cents on my doorstep
for a flutesong I played.
So, I don't know about making it
but for sure--I ain't gonna
fergit it.
Cautiously I approached this morning's mirror
I couldn't see any lines that weren't there before
I wasn't graying, balding or receding or for that matter
noticeably older in any way
but when I came across that pimple on my nose---
that fixed it
Fuck this thirty year old trauma
I have MADE it for thirty years--I have survived
this asylum circus murder university soap opera
for three decades
not only that--I'm doing damn good for it
I'm healthier than I was when I was twenty
can fuck longer, do more drugs, don't need to
prove nothin
I'm a happier person than I was at eighteen
or any age
and all day long I walked around with a thousand
dollars cash in my pocket
Thirty Ain't Bad