In five years I’ll be forty.
Forty years old.
Five years,
then
forty.
“Hello, Forty.”
Forty is waving me on,
Forty is pointing towards the horizon.
“That way.
Go that way for as long as you can.”
My bank account has $200 in it,
my savings has…
Haha!
Who turns forty anyway?
At work
we work and complain,
growing old behind
our little crap computers.
Where the fuck is Michael Stipe?

Michael Seymour Blake’s work has appeared or is forthcoming at Cosmonauts Avenue, Hobart, Queen Mob’s Tea House, Barrelhouse, Fanzine, Flapperhouse, Entropy, Waxwing, Corium, Paper Darts, People Holding, and Heavy Feather Review. He writes and doodles in Queens.

Header Image: Creative Commons, Public Domain, modified.