I spent some time tonight searching through boxes of old stuff and opened one up that had a bunch of my old yearbooks from grades 1-10. I know, it’s hard to believe, but I was once young enough to be in first grade. In the middle of that pile, I’d also saved an old school literary magazine called Flash from Spring of 1992.
I’ve seen people post old pictures of themselves on Facebook with the hashtag #tbt for “Throwback Thursday”. While this is a couple hours late and not a picture, it’s a poem I wrote back in 9th grade. (As you can tell, my literary skills have improved immensely… or maybe not.)
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Asleep With My Eyes Open
A ragged old man walks down the street.
His thunderous stomach wants something to eat.
Suddenly, he collapses upon my feet.
But I don’t notice
For I am asleep with my eyes open.
A skimpy-dressed woman is offering fun.
She suddenly jumps up, and then starts to run.
BANG! Another person picked off by a gun.
But I don’t notice
For I am asleep with my eyes open.
A man runs into me, skin of black.
As I get up, I hear a crack.
As I walk off, police club the man’s back.
But I don’t notice
For I am asleep with my eyes open.
Why is it that I’m so free?
That oppression can escape me?
I simply do not choose to see.
That’s why I don’t notice.
That’s why I’m asleep with my eyes open.
— Shawn C. Bakken
