my father was thirty-five when my mother
had me. always, he would speak of how he
 
started late, apartment already signed
to his name. i am twenty-six, trying to reverse
 
engineer all the sums and woes that go
into a child. how many payslips stack
 
to form a modicum of independence.
how is an old-new not the same as
 
stagnation. a writer writes that therapy
is cheaper than moving out. living with
 
your parents at thirty is nothing unusual.
the housing market is going crazy.
 
the rental market is going crazy.
why hedge when the recession begins
 
to arch its back and there are only so few
jobs available to earn a kind of life. one
 
person removes their instagram posts on
crypto. another person writes in their
 
linkedin profile their passion for making
an impact. they spin and they cycle and
 
they climb. we count down the days to
marital pageantry and geriatric pregnancies.
 
we count down the ways one can make
due with only the fringes of adult life.
 
frittered away in the din of night,
i sat, reading, for sound and for colour.