You don't realize you're growing up until you've already done it.

Among the taxes,

stickers
and construction paper,

student loan records,
pay stubs,
letters,
birthday cards from Grandma,
sits my numb bum
on the uncomfortably short carpet,
trying to make sense of
my life in black and white.
I'm sleepy,
thinking about tasks,
rubbing mascara into my eyes,
wishing for some chocolate with hazelnut chunks.
Or about seven beers.
Or both, as I push through the forest
of thinly sliced tree trunks.
One card
lying among the many documents,
says that when I was 19, I
referred to checking men out
as "admiring the merchandise."
Apparently my girlfriend thought this was funny enough
to put it into a birthday card.
Laughing, I remember.
Under the birthday card,
lies a pay stub from
Burger King, 2010.
I'm staring at it and wondering
if it would be considered socially OK,
to sniff the paper an see
if it still smells like onions and back-room gossip.
I place the pay stub
into its proper folder and glance
at the time:
11:16
I realize
that I haven't written my poem yet for today.
I am becoming too responsible.