"33"

i am 33.

i see the same people on the train
every morning.
you'd think they know it's
my birthday but most either
read a book or shuffle their feet;
some listen to their ipods.

i am 33.

in the office i get
the obligatory
congratulatory remarks;
everyone eats cookies and
brownies and ice cream.
i pretend to work the rest of
the day by filing documents
or sending important e-mails.
later i take the train home
and drink the good red
while sitting on the couch
watching some heart-gripping
reality crap
on t.v.

i am 33.

this is almost half of my
projected life,
and i only remember
about half of it
so far.