March 7, 2001
(I was 56)
It was twenty years ago today
I wish I could start over
and say
something more or something
less
than whatever created the
mess
The picture of me I gave to
you
of someone who didn’t have
a clue
might not have been right
might have been the result
of the fight
to find a way out of my
mind
into a world ruled by the
kind
Never did I think I would
sever
my hope from the hopes of
the clever
and point a guilty finger
of guilt at a son
for not doing what I myself
could not have done
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