maybe it is because ego –
always finishes last
even when it claims to have won

i had to let him go
about thirty years of rain
making the best of a bad job
too much pain

you have children now
your hair is grey and quite long
you used to be the melody
to my more youthful song

hello you –
where have been –
after so many years

how do these starlets –
sleep at night?
they are just gatekeepers
how do they sleep at night?

maybe i could not imagine my shoulders as a child
maybe i should have tamed my imagination
instead of just letting it grow so wild

when those monday dreams
suddenly look quite antique
it is the bleak end of the week

i am peeling off the wallpaper
scraping off the paint
my sepia past
always looks a little faint

i am on a sensitive treadmill
and these comments do something to the belt
i try to be cool like the ice cream
but it always starts to melt

and the struggle for power
always beams bright
from the white tower