This will be one of the last few poems.
In a Dream, which is also the first line.
In a dream at 50, I approach myself 18 years of age,
seated despondently on the concrete steps of my father's
house, wishing to be gone from there into my own life.
And I tell my young self, nothing will turn out right.
You'll want to avenge yourself on those close to you,
especially.
And they will want to die of shock and grief.
You will fall to pleading, and tears of self-pity,
filled with yourself a passionate stranger.
My 18-year-old self stands up from the concrete steps
and says, go to hell.
And I walk off.