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Years · Vinnie Penn Poemcast

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  And so today my fifty seventh year begins at least that many losses and far
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  too few wins. But over birthday candles is no place to lament at fifty
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  seven. It's where you just wonder where all the time went. I could
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  dedicate year fifty seven to this or to that, to rediscovering yoga, becoming
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  a jim rat. But that's the stuff of New Year's Eve. That's the
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  stuff in which I do not believe. No, I'm not where I wanted
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  to be, but I'm no longer drowning in that dead sea that was never
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  even meant for me. I had a piano in my basement when I was
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  a kid. It came from my father's bar. Played every birthday, I
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  surely did, but I never got very far. My left hand and my
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  right one wasn't morning, one wasn't night. They were both exactly the same,
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  and that's just not the name of the game. Still, I wrote
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  songs, tickled the ivories I could. I could still smell that old wood
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  and here my mom yell it was time for birthday cake. I could still
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  hear that. For Christ's sake, seventeen years since that damn wake, This
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  is what years, Do they just take