THIRTEEN
When I was twelve, for all I'd seen,
it looked like fun to be thirteen,
the age when adult life began
(the Rabbi said I'd be a man),
but when I reached my birthday I
discovered all too promptly why
the number "thirteen" means bad luck.
I found I was the selfsame schmuck
that I had been the day before,
though people now demanded more.
With scraggly whiskers on my chin
I missed the boy that I had been,
the boy that time was poised to kill.
So long ago. I miss him still.
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