Old man

 I'm not Peter Pan

Getting to be an old man

Collect my Pension from the recycled can

Kick it it down the road

A few miles

Think about it, lick it like it

Fuck it, fight it

Take the pig to market

Park it

Leave it to rest

A dead weight

A string vest

Bullet proof

I digress

Invest or ingest

Some poisonous mothballs

At the perihelion

Of a 17th century ball

Where I leave my curtain calls

And hope that the Saint Pauls

Are waiting behind walls

In dark alleys

Not the Frogmen

Swimming in the ocean

I saw her like a fish in an aquarium

All distorted, sometimes big

Sometimes small

But I couldn't touch her at all

And it fired my imagination

But ultimately it was an illusion

Even if I thought I was talking her fish language

Was she talking to me?

It was all one sided

She was just talking to her own reflection

At most I was a curiosity

But I was just maybe a lightray

And when she turned away

I was gone

Out of the frame

And her memory

Perhaps we're all living in a fish bowl

Of sorts

I lie in bed and pray

Maybe I'll be good at sports

One day

Because I'm no Fisherman

Or even Peter Pan

Just seems like I'm an old man