That sense of embarrassment from seeing a picture of your adolescent self with bowl cut

In 7th or 8th grade I composed this poem in a dream and recorded it when I woke up. 

 

I think it strange

that I would ride

a car of dreams

or train of thought;

still I think it funny not.

 

It’s amazing how things can fade,

like the tinge on an apple

or a beautiful glade

 

So here I am,

with a banana as a bandana

and a sheep as a jeep,

blowing Nazis to hell and smithereens.

 

I wouldn’t like it to end this way,

but they are out to get me, say,

it would be me or them in the end.

 

Like the camel and his “humph”

people say, oh, it’s fair that way

but they aren’t in his body, are they?

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