As September rears its ugly head
Out of the lovely peace of August,
So the truth dawns on me.
Stores have their school supplies on backorder,
Except for all the crayons.
Those damn crayons, with
Their waxy smell.
I yearn for the days when
Coloring was required.
It seems so long ago.
I am old now.
Headed for Junior year
But I still feel like a child.
Heck, my grandpa still calls me junior.
To a fourth grader, those eight years left
Seem to stretch out forever
And ever.
But I’m over the hill.
Youth really is wasted on the young.
All of those things I used to like to think about,
To fantasize about,
Now they are real.
And I don’t want them.
Suddenly my future is here
And it scares the hell out of me.
How can that be when
My grandpa still calls me junior?
I guess what they say is true
Time really never slows down.