Splashed

By years and form,

I am essentially grown.

I have reached

the adult stage of human

development.

Not Pupa or larval,

baby, child, teen, but

full blown adultitis.

I’m not sure I like

it much.

I always wanted to be

older, so I could do the

things I wanted without

anyone telling me what

I could or couldn’t do.

And yet, here I sit, in

another’s manmade cubicle,

typing information I don’t

care about into a system

built by another man,

that worked at a company

owned by another and all

of us, likely adults, still

doing what we’re told to do.

I’m not sure where the freedom

of adulthood went, or if it

existed at all. Was it an

illusion? Why, don’t I feel all

that grown up but, feel old?

I’m worn out by the constant

worries of the drowning man,

lost at sea. Fending off sharks of

everydayness and giant killer

squids of mediocrity and all I

know is how to swim.

I’m glad I had swimming lessons

as a child, if only I had some

adult lessons, or “How to be

in your late thirties” lessons.

The water is cold. It’s deep.

I’m jostled by the waves.