Coming of Age

Of which age do I come?

On which day?

I don’t understand this,

for it seems to me that

men

are always

coming of age.

There are only

new times

new similarities

and

old changes

mixing with variation.

A

bubble

of maybes,

this life

I lead.

Coming of age

is holding aloft your

first born son

and

burying your father,

doing both with a hearty laugh

and tears of joy.

Men,

it seems to me,

are always

coming of age.

Every day he does not

understand,

he comes of age

anew.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.