The air felt as heavy
as a youthful mistake;
the day—­­rough as riding
a gorge trail, muleback.
I’d been having a month–­long
anxiety attack
that made my brain, gut
and glutei maximi ache

I had so much to rue.
What is one to do
when one turns this milestone
with nothing to show for it
but remembered lust, lost
chums, a sad ratio of coltish
and wing­–hoofed years to these
last many whiffing of glue?