Growing Up - Competition Entry

My friends are thirty-somethings,
They jangle keys that open doors.
Their doors.

They talk payments and bills.
They take headache pills.

But I wouldn't call them grown up.
They have no inclination.
It's our generation.

Experiences make us grow,
But grow up? I don't think so.

Starting out in nappies
We fumbled our first words
Outgrew our pyjamas
Went to school,
Made friends,
Enemies.

Under the gaze of mum and dad
We danced about on stage.

We've been through puberty,
Shaved and drunk coffee,
Found love, been torn apart,
Left our parents, broke their hearts.

Had sex on holidays.
Fallen into old clichés.

But growing up, how to tell?

Is it getting older and wiser,
Or the size of our incisors?
Finding true love
Then being left,
unwanted,
bereft,
alone?

All this is good practice
For the real growing up
We will most of us confront
Inevitably.

There can be no refusing,
It's the gaining and losing.
And ultimate loss
Is waiting for us.

Through the death of one's parents
One comes to understand,
That's what pulled the blind up
Between ourselves and...

Through their wrinkled creases,
Our parent’s age increases.

They keep on going.
Which keeps us from growing
Up.