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Adolescence In Napkin Poems


You see the mirror outside
your bedroom window
in it your face young and handsome
(laughing perhaps).
You never wanted to change the world
nor to be the poet of the age:
(Which was
lucky
because you’re not)
On a desk, some waiting to be burnt
lie your adolescence in napkin poems;
your passionate juvenilia written in pencil.
Tomorrow, or the next M
tomorrow, you’ll go A
out and Y
find a job, B
or something worthwhile to fill your time. E