One to Thirty-Four

At one,
you've barely begun
At two,
you're a toddling attitude
By three,
You've learned to properly pee
At four,
you've lost the touch to adore,
And by five,
you've answered with nine,
looking forward to more.
At six,
it's time to meet other school kids
Dad takes you the first day,
but mysteriously calls in sick.
At seven,
it's time to get your front teeth in
By eight,
bedtime stories are so lame!
At nine,
it's a struggle in the lunch line
with ole what's-his-name?
By ten,
you've learned about original sin.
Then comes Eleven,
and its pre-teen indolence
With the arrival of twelve,
you're back in form giving us hell
At thirteen,
you're a brat that gleeks well
By fourteen,
your friends deplete the streets,
But some stay on to sell weed
At fifteen,
you smoke your first cig
and dream of a girl's tits
By sixteen, you're behind the wheel,
while your parents on pews kneel
At seventeen,
you wish you were eighteen
At eighteen,
you would have traded an election year
for the right to drink a beer
At nineteen,
you've pierced an ear,
or colored yourself queer
At twenty-one, you're finally legal:
Time for a Bud in the pub.
But by twenty-two,
you've already drunk too much
At twenty-three,
one more year's just one too many,
So twenty-four comes and goes,
leaving twenty-five coming in tow...
And twenty-six just blows!
It's twenty-seven that makes
you know, that Thirty's comin'
And twenty-eight's too late
To get off 29's train
Forget it, it's fate!
Hold up, Thirty-One,
I am ready again for some fun!
With thirty-two comes the blues,
But by now it's old news --
You should be a parent
with your own toddler of two!
Thirty-three is temporarily glee,
If only for the Three that's doubled
At this age, crow's feet are subtle,
And you prefer goin' to work
with stubble.
By thirty-four, you're disgruntled;
You've become a bore
You read Dilbert,
Feel carpal-tunnel sore,
And, at least once,
Considered a mistress or a whore.