Mister Capricorn

January 18, 2011

Every January it’s the same thing;
An annual event for a perennial struggle.
I always wish, quietly, that I could
Look back and watch each of my birthdays,
In sequential order, just to see each year
Within a single batted eyelash.

Each memory sticks like a cheap t-shirt
On a muggy summer day. I am soaked in it.
Now, as I enter a world where I give
All of myself to students and paper clips
Are treated like currency, I strain my eyes
To see all of my future birthdays
Stretched out ahead of me, like an
Ash-grey boardwalk. A million lives,
Running parallel to my own, rushing
Wildly like a river full of salmon.

If nothing else, I would wish my
Future self a very happy birthday.



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