Forty

25 Jan

My first weekend post birthday was nearly over

by the time I realized my new age.

Los Angeles? More like Lost Angeles

Sitting in the McDonald’s drive thru

trying to figure out the best way to get to the airport.

 

By my calculations, I was nearly 60 in white people years.

Cuantos tienes anos meeester?

Old enough to know better.

 

Every day just got sweeter

knowing we are never guaranteed  to

see another set of birthday candles to extinguish.

 

The existing barbarism  woven deep

within our society’s fabric

has been lying low and dormant,

a fact that we forgot about not because it was hiding,

but rather because we refused to acknowledge it

until it became too obvious to ignore–

Kinda like when someone’s urethra stops itching

only to give way to a  burning sensation.

 

Time to flip the script (again).

The board has changed

and what I’ve suspected and feared for 17 years 

is finally coming to fruition.

I’ve been right all along but didn’t want to believe it.

 

Shifting from apathy to anger, from disbelief to resignation

it was hard to muster up enough grief to feel sad for us.

We were getting what we deserved.

But there was no reason to ever be afraid again

because the worst case scenario was indeed happening.

 

 

Even those fortunate enough to survive the next 4 years

would be leaving something behind that they may never get back.

 

 

The drive thru cashier handed me my coffee

and pointed me in the direction of the airport.

 

I pulled out of the parking lot and took a right on La Brea Avenue

and drove back towards the direction I came from.

 

I wasn’t sure where I was going to end up

or how I was going to get there,

but I had a pretty good idea of where I should start.

 

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

 

 

 

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