Ghosts Of 21 Poem by Allen Ross

Drink up, citizen. In fact, drink a lot
because it is not what you thought.
Beer will still taste the same as yesterday
but eventually, you will forget its allure.

Soon to be mature, your palate will
demand the truly aged spirits,
which you will drink with great pleasure
until someone yells the last call for alcohol.

If you're in college, you should be a junior.
But you are probably not since you declared
an easy major, then realized there's no money
to be made in philosophy or English literature.

So let it be resolved, you will not be an adult
until your 25th birthday. But woe unto those
who tarry much longer. Step beyond that line
drawn in the sand and you will see them.

Your first vision might be in a parent's eye.
Then apparitions soon appear as reflections in a
mirror holding on to a wallet nearly empty if not for
laminated agreements you deny day after day.

That is until, night after night they crawl out of your
phone screaming like savages with blood lust.
They will drive you out into the cold world of your
own fabrication.

You will recognize and remember
the ghosts of 21.