one would expect
that i should become something different.
i would have expected
something radical,
something shocking,
tangible-
as if i were
the dung beetle in the metamorphosis,
or
uncool
like an aging rock star.
but there was
nothing.
nothing happened.
nothing,
dear friends that i could scare
or impress you with.
after all the hype,
the stories,
and
tv shows about
turning,
being,
or
becoming 30,
i can tell you, with a shrug,
“it’s nothing to fear”.
30 was no monster.
Still,
like Grover
in a child’s book:
There Is A Monster At The End Of This Book,
i just turned
the penultimate page,
and
it will just be me
at the end
of this tale.
cute furry loveable me.
07'
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