If I’m not mistaken, you are caught there in your bubble
in your torn old housecoat with your legs covered in stubble.
Your pupils are dilated and your eyes are blank and glassy.
The air in this closed room has turned stale and dank and gassy.
I’m going to turn the light on now. You’ve been here in the dark
too long, so I am taking you outside to the park.
You’ve mourned enough. It’s time that you returned to the living.
It’s true years take away, but it’s also true they’re giving.
We’ll buy pistachio ice cream, feed your favorite duck
and talk about how fortunate we are to have such luck
to be alive and free and here in this glorious place
with ice cream in our tummies and sunlight on our face.
Go and take a shower and put on your best duds.
Wipe away your dolor with water and with suds.
Blow dry your hair until it looks casual and sporty.
I think that even you can survive this turning forty!!