Thursday, January 20, 2022
Nadir Poem
I'm imperfect, like all of you doomed
To become broken copies of our parents
Save I remember my childhood and project
The Legos I created. The spread of trading cards
This is not appreciated. Leave me alone
Uh huh, that's OK. Yeah thanks. My kids raised
By smaller screens than mine. Luxuries
I had just on a slower timeline. Gifts ungiven
By my own anxiety and the omnipresent end
It's not nostalgia, ever dangerous. It's a chance
To recover pieces of a circle drawing to
Their own mistakes, their own sincerity.
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