Birthday poem

I can see my age
at the shape of my swollen feet
after a 12 hour shift
in old worker boots with no soles.

I can see my age
at the fact I forget 
It’s my birthday 
and other people 
remind me with 
cliche wishes 
that make texting back 
a hypocritical endeavor.

I can see my age
and I don’t like
where this is going.

I can see my age 
in November 
and nothing good
ever happened to me
in November.

Besides that time 
I went to Berlin
with a woman I loved
but one evening 
tried to shove her bank card
in her mouth in a fit of rage.

I can see my age
in the accumulation
of regrets.

I can see it
and I don’t like
where this is going.