never too late

your coloring childhood books,
the first of your soft toy idols,
is where you have got your looks
and colorful painted titles
of novels you dream to write
and publish, at least a couple
you’re sure you will get it right
you’re supple

ten years before you grow
moustaches and beards and ego
the world is your greatest show,
the stages are still illegal
it’s fifteen before you get
anxiety that’s so trendy
so easy to get upset, 
so handy

in twenty you’ll throw that trend
in trash can of eco plastic
live balanced, don’t overspend,
stay versatile and sarcastic,
use hashtags, obey the stocks, 
eat clean, make your peers ecstatic
the books were just childish talks
in attic

then somewhen in late July
it’ll dawn on you, gray-haired, fifty –
you’ve spent all your life to try
to prove everyone you’re thrifty
it’s never too late to weep
on chances you fucked up neatly,
on those you have hidden deep,
completely

while hugging you tight and warm,
your grandson will say you’re boring
too rusty to be transformed, 
too tacky to get restoring
remember creative state
of writing, as if you care?
it almost became too late
to share