Antimony

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If you were born in 1963

you will be sixty-three years old

some day

in 2026.

​

The third grade kids at school

tell me

to be the age

of the year you are born 

is to have a diamond birthday.

​

I'm going to get a sparkly small one

because

it's never too late to have

something for the first time.

​

Although,

I'd like to call this year

my pewter birthday.

​

The metal

isn't soft.

Durable alloy just looks that way.

​

Patinas require heat,

and humidity.

 Or too much cold, 

and not enough hope, 

or too much hope, 

and not enough fire.

​

Or the dint of heartache

and a drop of antimony.

​

Patinas take time. 

And a low melting point.

​​

But it's a hassle to wear

so much tin,

bismuth,

and copper.

​

Water jugs hanging off my ears

will be heavy.

And wet.

​

After six decades and three singles,

I've got a lot of heavy things

hanging around.

Deca as in weight.

Weighted.

​

Never mind if I gave up

arms for wings

a long time ago.

​

It's got to be the year

for something Lighter.

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