Seniorosis

When I was twelve years old

I stopped playing with Legos

For some reason

They stopped being interesting

When I was sixteen years old

I stopped riding my bike

I could drive

So why would I bother?

And when I was eighteen years old

I stopped coming home

Leaving this town

In lieu of another

Growing up is a zero-sum game

What I bring with me

Is taken from where I was

Disconnected from that reality

I hear students self-diagnose

“I can’t do my homework”

“I took a five-hour nap yesterday”

They call it senioritis

I too, would like to self-diagnose

A different malady

I’m special

And much more sinister

An “itis” is an inflammation

An infection

But an “osis” is a corruption

A process

So, I diagnose myself with seniorosis

A type of neurosis

Pulling me out of my home

And out into the world

I worry

That my time here is

A four-year sand castle

Memorable only to its creator

That when I go, what I did

Will no longer belong to me

Or even worse

Make no difference

When I come back

Will they know me?

Will they care as they did before?

Will I just be a photo in a dusty book?

Will there still be best friends?

Still time to discuss shenanigans?

Will the only remnants

Be a shantytown of text messages and promises to “stay in touch”?

//

When I was eighteen years old

I stopped coming home

But now I want home to come to me

Staying in my pocket for the years ahead.