Robbing the Cradle

It's that time of year again; our
birthdays. He has spent sixty-five
years catching up to me, and he 
never will. When we were fourteen
I reached fifteen before him. My
birthday the end of December, his
the beginning of February, and he
had told me he would be sixteen.
When I called his home his mother
answered the phone and I asked
how it felt for her son to be sixteen
her puzzled voice responding he
wasn't. So there was I, older than
him, and the popular refrain back
then was that girls should never
'rob the cradle' looking for a
boyfriend. I'd hung up, not eager
to speak to him. When he arrived
later that evening, I saw him for
the first time smoking a cigarette.
His nonchalance impressed me 
and the crisis passed. Last time I
ever saw him smoke a cigarette.
And he's still catching up.