on being older than your father

my dearest son

so little along, too long grown

can you understand your moment?

sweet child, do you fear growing old?

when grey pollution clouds hair-roots and skies

gassed out fog mornings, gripped by saturated haze

those browns and greens along sidewalk patches

but child, do you focus on the greys?

so little along, too long grown

i threw away your moment

i didnt care for growing old

a five year question, asked 5 times a year

to see yourself succeeding, the dread that entails

in five years i see myself as a wall-piece decoration

or at least my entrails

but sweet child i won't hold your hand

when you see yourself at 25

you already see a dead man