Seconds

I'm 36
and a few days into a new life.
You can say this about the old one:
His marriage was better than most,
better than some.
Carve that on the tombstone.
Also, don't forget the trinkets
sold from that life's work.
Scratch them as postscript.

Now a new life, marked
by a fresh resident,
dependent as an invalid,
but getting better.
My friend is asleep in bed.
Two decades, we made that bed live,
made it rock and roll, baby.
Now the one who sleeps between us
cuts the mattress into thirds.

This new life frightens me,
I admit that much.
Traveling blind here.
Dependent keeps popping up,
and I don't like it applied to me.
Had forgotten youth,
singularity,
being alone.

And now?
Must reconsider routine
and joining and separation.
Man, boy, untethered,
stepping lightly into secondhood,
wary of the chisel.

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