I gave up writing trying to write poetry after taking an incredibly intimidating contemporary poetry class circa 2007. But I went to my first poetry reading on Wednesday, and it put me in a mood. So of course this week has been spent with late-night notebook scribbling, writing down words and phrases on the subway, and wondering if anything I pen could raise an eyebrow. I don’t do this.

But it’s a new decade, right? 

PS) Like most things, don’t read too much into this. Inspired by others, often.

Those Days Are These Days

 You asked, when did we become adults? 

August, maybe. Blurred lines,

really. Responsibility, leaving work and arriving at the

house to collapse and pause for a breathe

before going back for more.

Weekends once again matter, masking

exhaustion with whiskey, only for sleep to show its

face as we wake up past noon. Only to

stay in wool socks and warm pants, only to

greet the day today, tomorrow.

And here we are on the R train, riding wrong

into Manhattan, rememorizing subways lines

we thought we knew so well.

And time we know not either. Adulthood crept in, all at once and

not at all. And with our pencil skirts and planners, we eat

M&Ms in the car, wondering why the blue ones were such a big deal,

and when we’ll crash another wedding in Albuquerque,

and if eating pasta straight from the pot is

all right.

Maybe we’re young, still and always, and those

days are these days. Yes, whoever they are is right: we always want what we can’t have.

Kids want pancakes for dinner,

adults want new kitchens and vacations,

and we want better love and lower rent. Even when

we spend our savings on spirits and are loved

down the road.