Passed the point where they ask me for X’s on my hands,
reached the point where he apologized as he draws on my wrists.
Sorry I have to do this,
he said with the felt tip in his fingers.
Sorry, cause I know you’re old enough.
Sorry cause I see you forgot your I.D.
Sorry cause you’re growing hair in more places
and your skin is creasing and folding.
Your bones are creaking and your muscles atrophy.
Sorry for the age I can see under your eyes
and sorry that they’ve seen more then mine now.
Sorry you forgot your I.D. because I can see the things you’ve seen.
I can see the bags beneath your eyes
are holding more than they did
when I had to check your plastic for your birthday.
The bartender poured me a Coke from that handle with the buttons,
I thought you seemed old enough,
Those X’s suggest that you’re younger than you look.
But you don’t look young.
I can see how your skin folds here,
more weathered than smooth.
I can see how your voice is weighed down more than
it once was when the inflection peaked higher
and the jokes poured more readily.
Sorry I can’t serve you
what you’ve been drinking for 5 years now.
Sorry I can just give you Coke,
though she doesn’t know I prefer it to spirits.
Sorry you’re old enough to look like you’re old enough.