Monday, November 28, 2016

Thirty-Five by Emily R. Frankenberg

I am the age of youthful presidents,
decrepit models and fading athletes,
as well as others, nondescript throughout the day:
the tired waitress with the memory
and the uniform she hates,
the polished lawyer with the torment in his head,
the distracted sales clerk and the teacher
with a notebook of failed plans.
I’m two years older than the carpenter
who died upon the cross,
and one year younger than Anne Bancroft in The Graduate.
Also, adjusting for the species,
I’m the same age as my cat,
who knows his tail and his routines,
but with persuasion can be made to chase a string.

Emily R. Frankenberg was born in New Jersey, but has lived in Seville, Spain since 2006. She writes in both English and Spanish and has been published in Amaryllis Poetry, Revista Literaria Baquiana, La bolsa de pipas, Typehouse Literary Review, Strong Verse, and the Apeiron Review, as well as in an anthology of poetry released by Editorial ZenĂș (Colombia).

1 comment:

  1. Which makes me as old as two Anne Bancrofts. And yet still this poem made me laugh. Good one. If a grandchild dangles a string, I will chase.