On Being (I) by Tyler Wettig

You recovered from those formative

and dumb years: now here’s to many more.

Your soul that rends and mends all grassroots and

punk gives you nary a dull moment, except

when you feel dead; but sweet hubris might say

it’s all in your head. Now count the few ways you

love yourself: sports, poems, and sex. Only two

can actually kill you, so relax: you

concern yourself so much with death that birth

means less and less. Remember: dad saw ghosts,

your mom’s, and told you he felt blessed. When

you meet your other brother, maker, or

see the damned wraiths yourself, own up: you’ve

probably relapsed. Or just regressed.

---

Tyler Wettig resides in Michigan. His latest chapbook is The Adult Table (Zetataurus, 2018). Tyler's website: https://www.tylerwettig.wordpress.com.

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