At Eighteen

That adult within me
Is lost like a fairytale book
Of long ago
Where confetti studded my teardrops
Falling off bikes into rainbow mud.

And the frequent heavy sighs over gin and tonics
And talking over the tax rates, the tax rates,
Were percentages as unreal as candy floss clouds
And sugar sweet sunshine
But now I’m supposed to love red wine, red wine,
And yet I feel the wind kick me on a playground swing
As if I were only a child yesterday.
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