33

You probably pictured it differently
Than rusty VWs all your life
At one point almost married a butcher
So solid, so grounded, a craftsman, you thought

Now solving crosswords in bed
Leave the light on, there's no one that minds

'O8, you stopped wearing make-up
You're sick just thinking about Bangladesh
Your green Batik dress doesn't fit you no more
That's a shame 'cause Batik's coming back

Now faint-hearted dance moves in the bathroom
You and the mirror, the two of you

One year you dated a professor
On the third date he told you he liked peeing games
You always wanted to paint or to emigrate
But the hustle and the errands just fucked it all up

Grandma's still sending you money
For one decent dinner, no plus one

Petrarca wrote 300 sonnets
All for a woman that didn't exist
On the way home you cried in the taxi
Love is an awful enemy, my dear

This year you are 33
But when you cry, you still look 16