I'm a role-model
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
I'm feeling older--so much older, but
not so much wiser than say a few years ago,
my pieces and parts ache and make me groan
more than I'd like and I don't run,
you'd think I'd mellow out a little
choosing quiet friends that play cards on
Tuesdays and sip mint juleps and talk about
the crazy lady on the third floor,
I want to live to be a wise man, to know
when to talk and when to shut-up, when to
stare knowingly and wink and when not too
look at some girl's ass,
and I dream daily of a comfortable beach chair
sun screen, a warm breeze dancing across the sands
of Baja and whales exploding out of the ocean while
I contemplate the good choices of my children,
but my friends are each a circus in their own right
and chaos is not a fiction, but a right of passage
designed to train you for the onslaught of tomorrow
and the next day,
I watch from the stands and wonder at the circle of
events as my friends chase their tails and rip moments
of living from the stale air of the modern run-a-round
kids growing up and shedding the skins of brainless
years of the party line, keeping dangerous minds pickled
in a jar of confusion
ready-serve for the revolving production of making
more shit faster,
they sprint and wait at the gates to maraud the world
and build wonderment out of the trash their elders leave
behind,
I feel like I'm catching up to old and it feels like
a good fit, so maybe I won't listen to the warnings
in the direction of love and hate vibrating off our
children, chalk it up to hormones and youth and retire
to the sandy beaches of a place that freezes time in
a margarita glass and gentle winds,
but I'm not ready to die yet, there are too many
young heads that need to wake up and stir the pot, there
too many old that have stopped, so I'm gonna write
this trash and throw mud at the walls and hope
someone listens,
after all, I'm a role model.
J. Masuda © 2005
not so much wiser than say a few years ago,
my pieces and parts ache and make me groan
more than I'd like and I don't run,
you'd think I'd mellow out a little
choosing quiet friends that play cards on
Tuesdays and sip mint juleps and talk about
the crazy lady on the third floor,
I want to live to be a wise man, to know
when to talk and when to shut-up, when to
stare knowingly and wink and when not too
look at some girl's ass,
and I dream daily of a comfortable beach chair
sun screen, a warm breeze dancing across the sands
of Baja and whales exploding out of the ocean while
I contemplate the good choices of my children,
but my friends are each a circus in their own right
and chaos is not a fiction, but a right of passage
designed to train you for the onslaught of tomorrow
and the next day,
I watch from the stands and wonder at the circle of
events as my friends chase their tails and rip moments
of living from the stale air of the modern run-a-round
kids growing up and shedding the skins of brainless
years of the party line, keeping dangerous minds pickled
in a jar of confusion
ready-serve for the revolving production of making
more shit faster,
they sprint and wait at the gates to maraud the world
and build wonderment out of the trash their elders leave
behind,
I feel like I'm catching up to old and it feels like
a good fit, so maybe I won't listen to the warnings
in the direction of love and hate vibrating off our
children, chalk it up to hormones and youth and retire
to the sandy beaches of a place that freezes time in
a margarita glass and gentle winds,
but I'm not ready to die yet, there are too many
young heads that need to wake up and stir the pot, there
too many old that have stopped, so I'm gonna write
this trash and throw mud at the walls and hope
someone listens,
after all, I'm a role model.
J. Masuda © 2005