Self-Awareness

I hope nobody noticed my life,

at least the first 82 years,

but if so, I’m very sorry.

There’s every indication they ain’t,

so perhaps all’s well, 

or as well as can be.

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 I do is:

I was over-loved.

My mother was terribly fond of me.

The upshot is what you don’t see today,

which is to say, nearly everything,

except this incessant, preening prattle,

an intense awareness of self.