I wrote this poem just a little over twenty years ago… a day before my 26th birthday, and a few weeks before Beth and I were married in Greenville, Illinois. It’s quite amusing to me that I mentioned feeling like I was 46, as that’s the age I am now; for the record, it feels very different than I guessed it would at that time. The good news is, it’s even better than I expected.
Twenty-Five and Going by Roger Darnell
I’ve put off the great Chinese thinkers
for another year, at least.
Taken up being a fiancee.Read a lot of Bukowski. That was a good idea.
Feel like I’m forty-six, only
twenty-six.My poetry stacked up… sort of thin.
The 25-year-old poet was buried.But so was the 24-year-old. So what?
The word years is losing significance.
On an abacus it would mean beads.
On my awakeness, it meansMemories, feelings, fears, understandings.
Understandingness.My mom gave me some of her work. A lot of it.
I think that means something. Praised me —
in a letter, not the poetry — as being a good man.Now that’s something. I don’t care who you are —
that’s something. I’m getting married. Think it’ll be
something, also. Proud. I’d admit it.And going! Going now, as the pen pauses…
perilously….
