I’ve not written a letter to my teenage self.
If I did, it would be
I knew that boy
wouldn’t heed warnings.
He did little good.
The bad I remember,
the asinine and foolish acts
I cannot deny.
I was me.
I was there. I did it. I was
the thick-headed marauder
My survival is a mystery.
How it turned out like this; I’ll never know.
Look both ways in life to connect the dots.
What happened to all those years?
Mind the gaps in recall for memories denied.
Footnote: My wife edits these. She brought this to me saying, “it turned out well because you married me.” I agree. Ok, late addition of a video that kind of says cool stuff.