Self-Awareness

I hope nobody has noticed my life,

at least the first 82 years of it.

There’s every indication they haven’t,

but if so, I’m very sorry.

It wasn’t all it might have been,

and I’ve hardly any excuses:

I wasn’t beaten. I was well-fed.

I had a shot at education.

The best one I can think of is:

I was over-loved by my mother.

The upshot is what you don’t see today,

which is to say, nearly anything,

except this incessant, preening prattle,

an intense awareness of self.