30

Thirty is here, rusty
ghost, dumb thumb suckerfish old maid card
in a losing game.

I am mad. (no really mad          gone
for the longest hike    screws falling out dark scary elevator marbles
long gone blood curdles skin creeps)

Already thirty and still alone, wasted time lies
like roadkill behind me.

A promising young woman at nineteen becomes
the lumpy old hag at thirty.
Becomes a wasteland of old toys and memorabilia
that should have been chucked at twenty-five.

I fight strange urges every day,
to rainbow stripe my hair
or break my leg. I’ve had two concussions this year

though I hardly think they are to be blamed
for this walking horror show zombie doll
tired and also dumb. Slightly sad
blowing out candles on a cake decorated with stars.