I'm getting too old for this shit.

This poem was started last night as a response to bruising my shoulder moshing at a Bad Religion concert.  After the bombing of the Boston Marathon today and a few conversations, the poem grew.  I don't know if it's really a coherent view or idea, but it's what came out.  As usual, this is a first raw draft with no real editing.  Play the song at the bottom while reading if you want.

This Shit

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1.  I am too old for this shit.

Thirty and my joints creek a bit.

Mistreated by a life time of bad diet,

Disused,

Accented by occasional mosh pits,

            Speakers, and

Headphones cranked far past 11.

Before long, my hearing will be gone,

I will have to imagine the power chords.

One night spent letting loose

            Followed by a day searching for

            Occult bruises

            Trying to pop my shoulder.

2.  Then I stop and read the news.

I am getting to old for this shit.

We are too old for this shit.

Humanity should be a grown up by now

We have bruises as a species. 

            Deep scars of history.

I check the instant updates on news feeds

            Waiting for an explanation, a motive.

3.  I am too old for this shit.

I stopped justifying myself long ago.

I still play with Legos and listen to music written for

Pissed off teenagers in the 90s. 

I don’t believe in God, but I believe in people,

            And the fact that most of us would pull

            Perfect strangers out of the rubble.
My morals are based on comic books.

I believe in Earth and global society,

            That clicks along without regard of my greatest acts.

4.  I am too old for this shit.

Who cares who, why, how?

The reaction is the key.

No matter how many fuses are lit, bombs triggered by satellites and cell phone towers.

            There will be people to rebuild it all with,

Sore shoulders, bum knees, leaky guys,

Food allergies, bipolar disorder, and OCD

All that be damned.

I am too old for this pessimistic, disgruntled worldview,

begat by hate and disease on all sides

or the news picking at the fresh scab.

5.  So I turn up the speakers and look for tomorrow.

You’re never too old for tomorrow,

            Until you are,

           
6. And then it doesn’t matter anymore.

Never too old for this shit.