Hell Yeah Fifty

Originally written for a friend's fiftieth, this poem pretty much sums up how I feel about the big five-O

Illustration by Maura Condrick

Look at that strutter,

swaying like he’s got no matters,

That mother-fucker must be


Look at him go, like his life is a show,


there’s no doubt in my mind that guy’s


Tall, long and lean,

there are things he has seen,

he doesn’t mean to look mean,

he’s just Fifty.

Fifty came fast,

crept up on his ass,

there’s no need to smoke grass,

he’s already relaxed

because he’s Fifty.

He might look like he’s drifting,

but he’s done some soul sifting,

and now he’s slow shifting

into Fifty.

He’s kissed an infant on the forehead,

helped an old person out of their bed,

he’s played house, he’s played spouse,

he’s played can you find the louse.

And now here he is:


Fifty’s cool, Fifty’s strong.

Just look and you’ll see there’s nothing wrong

with Five: upright shoulders, straight back, curved belly.

And that Zero,

no mistake, it’s a circle, fully connected.

Like that guy,

been around.

Look at him go,

that big five-O.

Where are you going, man?

We all want to know.

Hey, Fifty!

You are fine, you are divine!!!

You look swell!

You wear it well!

Hell, yeah,

you are Fifty.

Jeannie Zusy writes plays, short stories, screenplays and other things at

Tags: aging

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