I’m at that age.
Not the age you think
Where minimum wage is my best option
Or when mother passes the skillet down to my pregnant ankles
Especially not the age where Santa’s the kinder version of the sex offender down the street
My hips -twisting- to the beat of Motown
My legs go sporadic at the deep sound of Marvin
Call me an old soul
But baby
Blame the Rock n’ Roll
No comments:
Post a Comment