I often daydream about going back
in time to the seventh grade
but with my mind and memories intact,
my eyes sharp with hindsight
and my tongue sharp with experience.
The daydream starts out vengeful, always,
saying now the things I wish I’d thought of then
but slowly it evolves to doing now
the things I wish I’d valued then
and starting now the things
I wish I’d realized then.
Inevitably, I seek out and try to convince
loved ones that I’m from the future,
Mom and Dad, and it’s okay that I swear now
because I’m twenty-three, and Andrew,
I know I’m flat-chested and metal-mouthed
but I’m going to be your wife someday, really.
And all the while I dream the scenery passes
unseen before my eyes, which, being human,
take little interest in the present.