There’s a smiley face,
drawn with pencil,
on the frame of the window
that peers into the backyard.

I may have written
about him before,
but it’s been so long
and time’s incessant
circles make it impossible
to remember.

I drew him
in high school, amidst
AP composition homework
and 20 minute naps
and 3 a.m. alarms.

He isn’t exactly
a friendly face, falseness
exuding from his turned up mouth.

He reminds me of sleepless nights,
mind-numbing bus rides,
and ever too much
angry silence.

I yearn to erase him,
to rid him from existence,
but isn’t there something to
allowing momentos of the past
rattle around in the present?