Getting Older

My core muscles are made of sandwiches and Joe runs through my veins,
amok through my brain,
and my peripheral nervous system feels tingly like something might bite me on the hand
like Peter Parker before becoming Spiderman.
My oh my, this diet soda's aspartame must be leaving deposits in my brain
like as if it was a bank,
like as if it was on the corner since you lived there and was waiting for you to return
but you found a job in Baltimore so you don't.
You just occasionally make a trip home
for Spanish Rice and chicken rolls
and the sanwiches you eat at work sure were a sign
you're not 28 anymore, by God, you're 29.