I am ashamed
To look my mother in the eye
And show her nothing
For the years of her life
Spent on supporting
Someone such as I.

I walk through the years
Looking yearningly
At the reflections
In windows I pass.

Yesterday
My classmate died
In a hit
and


run.

I scour the local obituaries,
And yet I cannot find his name.
Though I knew little of him,
I have little reason to forget him.
Perhaps, if I grow older
I will stand at his grave
And somberly ponder
At that epitaph of squandered youth.

Ka か
Ke け
Ki き
Ko こ
Ku く

I write,
Over and over again,
As if chanting silently
To ward off
Forgetfulness
And a growing sense
Of impending mediocrity.

Rain pooled into a puddle
On the sidewalk as I pass
Reflects at me a distortion of
All the things
I should have been.

I aspire to become
The person
That my dog thinks I am

To be read
In itself
Is a victory.

It is hard
To think critically
Of your own poetry.
It is difficult to improve
And upsetting, perhaps
When there is little success.

But, be calm
To have been seen
Is itself
A victory.